


And Meaner Creatures Kings

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Series: The Troublemaker Series [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamort, F/M, Magical depletion, Part of Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 16:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12708978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: 1973. Lord Voldemort's reign is solidified and respected around the world. Bellatrix - eternally youthful and beautiful - is beloved and feared. But after creating five Horcruxes, the Dark Lord's body is paying the price for his deeds. Now it's a race against time to find answers to keep him in reigning form. Part IV of the Troublemaker Series.





	1. Chapter 1

_Black Family Residence, London_

_21 September 1973_

"Good afternoon, My Lord." Lucius Malfoy came striding up to Lord Voldemort with surprising confidence. Most people these days cowered in fear or mumbled if they were forced to speak to Voldemort. It was almost as severe with Bellatrix, who was universally referred to now as  _The Lady_.

The joint funeral of Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange had been a turning point. In the intervening seventeen months, a solid new way of life had settled over wizarding Britain. Resistance, if it existed, was silent and invisible. Voldemort was a god in Britain now. He and Bellatrix had spent a good deal of time receiving one foreign Minister after another, all of whom were anxious to pledge their loyalty and friendship. The mess in America had made Britain look brilliantly organised by comparison. Norway, Italy, China, Russia, Mexico, Brazil… most of the major wizarding nations were looking to Lord Voldemort for guidance and leadership. The Dark Lord and his Lady made frequent public appearances, where they were received by the adoring masses. All over the globe resided witches and wizards who feared and worshipped Lord Voldemort.

And here was Lucius Malfoy, the precocious eighteen-year-old son of the Minister, fresh out of Hogwarts and clutching a tumbler of firewhisky in the Black family's sitting-room. They'd gathered for Bellatrix's twenty-second birthday; she'd insisted on a small family dinner instead of a grand party. And Lucius Malfoy strode right up to Lord Voldemort, his eager blue eyes shining. Voldemort smirked and said,

"Why do I suspect I know exactly what this is about?"

He flicked his eyes behind Lucius to where Narcissa stood talking with Bellatrix, who glanced back to her husband as she sensed his gaze near her. Voldemort returned his eyes to Lucius and raised his eyebrows. Lucius nodded and cleared his throat.

"My Lord, now that Narcissa and I have both left school and I'm settled in heading up the Portkey Office at the Ministry…"

"You'd like my permission to propose marriage to Narcissa Black. Is that right?" Voldemort sipped from his own drink, and Lucius grinned happily.

"That's precisely it, My Lord. May I please marry her? I vow that our marriage would be a living testament to your mission."

Voldemort resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes Lucius Malfoy was awfully obnoxious, but he was Abraxas' son and he was certainly serviceable in the Ministry. And Narcissa was Bellatrix's own sister. So he nodded crisply and told Lucius,

"Be sure to give the enough time to arrange for all the details she's been salivating over for years, Lucius. You'll be very happy together; I've no doubt about that. And you have my permission."

"Thank you, My Lord." Lucius smiled broadly and bowed deeply. Bellatrix stared at Voldemort again, and the glitter in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was happy for her sister. More than that, she was happy in general these days. She was Voldemort's key charmer, his primary diplomat, in meetings with international Ministers. She made him proud whenever he got to show her off. She was terrifying and intelligent and beautiful, and now everyone knew that right along with him.

Today was her twenty-second birthday, but her body was frozen in time thanks to their ill-gotten procedure in Spain. She looked seventeen, and Voldemort was beginning to wonder if anyone else noticed that she now looked even younger than Narcissa. Perhaps they thought she was kept youthful by potions or spells. It didn't matter what they thought; Voldemort knew the truth. She may be twenty-two years in real age today, but physically she would always be the girl with the journal, the girl in the Doxy's Nest. Voldemort curled his lips up at her from across the room, his gaze locked on hers as he sipped at his whisky.

She turned and walked away, toward the staircase, and he knew she wanted him to follow her. He did, and everyone else milling about pretended not to notice. Voldemort padded up the stairs, his legs aching a bit, and went straight to the library, to the place where he'd first kissed Bellatrix almost five years earlier. She was in there waiting for him, and when he shut the door behind him, she set her wine down on a shelf and crossed her arms over her chest.

"So Cissy's finally going to get hitched, is she?"

Voldemort nodded and told her, "That Lucius Malfoy is awfully bold. We'll have to keep an eye wide open for him. In case his aspirations get too lofty."

Bellatrix pursed her lips and nodded. "He's always seemed to me like he could never climb high enough. Like the moon wouldn't be high enough."

"A true Slytherin, then," Voldemort said. He glanced around the room and was suddenly taken back to that Christmas party when he'd first put his lips on his Lady. He flicked his eyes back to her and noted, "You look the same. I do not."

"Better," she insisted. "You look better than ever."

Voldemort stepped closer to her and sighed. "The  _Daily Prophet_ ran a very nice article this morning to commemorate the birthday of the Dark Lady."

Bellatrix turned up half her mouth. " _Never has wizarding Britain been privy to such astute diplomacy or courage in battle as displayed by our magnificent Lady._ Yes. I read it. It sounded an awful lot like something a certain someone I know might say."

Voldemort feigned outrage and scoffed, "You think  _I_  wrote the article."

Bellatrix giggled and took the front of his robes in her fists. She pulled herself up to him and pressed her lips against his as she nodded.

"Yes, My Lord. I think you wrote the article."

"Fine. Maybe I did," Voldemort shrugged. "I didn't trust anyone else to do you justice."

"Of course you didn't. You don't trust anybody," Bellatrix teased him. He cupped her jaw in his hand, bringing his mouth down to hers again and whispering against her mouth,

"Only you, little thing. It'll only ever be you."

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_21 September 1972_

"Still sore?" Bellatrix asked worriedly. She stood in the threshold of the bathroom, raking a wide-toothed comb through her damp curls with a towel wrapped around her torso. Voldemort scowled at her from the edge of the bed as he rubbed butterfly weed balm onto his right wrist. He shook his head and muttered,

"Just stiff. Too much wand work over the years. It's nothing."

Bellatrix sighed heavily and licked her bottom lip. "I can feel it. I can feel the pain. I can tell it's hurting."

"I try to block it from you," he said with a mirthless little smile. "When it flares up during the day, I try to be sure you're not sensing it."

"Why?" Bellatrix demanded, setting her comb down on the ledge above the sink and plaiting her hair into a braid for the night. From the bedroom, Voldemort said quietly,

"Because you're not nearly old enough to have creaky joints, Bellatrix. That's why."

She tied her hair up and walked out of the bathroom, making her way straight to the wardrobe. She frowned as she tossed her towel aside and pulled out a simple black nightgown. He was forty-six years old, but it shouldn't matter. He was immortal.

"I don't want to use the Surripiotempus Potion, Bella," he said firmly. "Not yet. Not for another decade, probably. Everything is still too new. I can deal with a sore wrist."

"And a sore knee, and your vision getting worse." Bellatrix turned to face him with her nightgown in her hands. When he looked a little surprised, she rolled her eyes and demanded, "Did you think I couldn't sense those, too?"

"I take Clarity Potion for the vision," Voldemort said primly. "It's just a little blur that started five or six years ago; it's not that severe."

"I know," Bellatrix nodded. "The knee hurts worst when you're climbing stairs."

Voldemort huffed angrily and wandlessly sent the butterfly weed balm soaring back downstairs to the potions stores. He pulled himself under the blankets and folded his hands over his stomach.

"I have no desire to argue with you on your birthday, My Lady." His voice was sterile, and Bellatrix growled with frustration. She wrenched on her nightgown and crawled quickly into the bed. She knelt beside Voldemort and glared down at him.

"You have the ability to stay comfortable through centuries of power, and here you are pitying yourself for having the body of a forty-six-year-old man. On my twenty-second birthday."

"You look seventeen," he reminded her. "Your body is seventeen."

"My mind and my soul are twenty-two!" Bellatrix barked, and his eyes went round as he turned his face to her. He seemed taken aback by her tone, by her insubordination. Bellatrix took a breath and tempered her voice as she reached for one of his hands. "I reckon if you can make Horcruxes and Inferi, then you can probably come up with a more permanent solution for blurred vision and aching joints. Why make yourself miserable by aging? Why are you letting this happen to you?"

He narrowed his eyes up at her. "It happens to everyone."

"You are not  _everyone_ ," Bellatrix whispered. "You are Lord Voldemort. You are my husband, and I don't want you in pain."

Voldemort hesitated, his lips shaking a little as he admitted, "I've already made more than one Horcrux, Bella. I worry… I think perhaps I'm aging a little more rapidly because of… of how many I've made."

Bellatrix frowned. "Exactly how many are there?"

"Five." He shut his eyes and gulped. "There are five. That Croatian crone who told me about thieving fertility… she warned me that making so many could cause… physical degradation."

Bellatrix felt her heart race as she said in a soft, frantic voice, "You should be taking the potion, then. To keep your body safe. Or isn't there something to help you be… be like me? Frozen in time?"

He said nothing for a long while. He was hiding something from her. She could feel his Occlumency like a great stone wall between their minds. She squeezed his hand hard and whispered desperately,

"Tell me what's going on. Please."

Voldemort opened his eyes and sat up slowly. He shrugged and admitted, "Fine. Here's the truth, Bella. I've been taking Surripiotempus Potion for over a year. It's only working to help stave off the worst of it."

"The worst of what?" Bellatrix asked, horror taking her over. Voldemort gnawed on his lip and asked her,

"When's the last time you shaved my head by hand?"

She felt queasy as she said, "I assumed you were doing it yourself. With magic."

"There's no hair left to shave," he said. "And the vision problem wasn't just a little blur; I was starting to see black spots. Six months ago, my ankle broke coming down the stairs. I fixed it up and blocked the pain from you. If I wasn't taking the potion, I'd be disintegrating."

Bellatrix's eyes welled. "Surely Healer Harvey -"

"I'm working with him," Voldemort told her sharply. Bellatrix felt a sense of betrayal come over her mind.

"Why have you been hiding this from me?"

He stared at her like she was stupid, and he finally demanded, "Do you think I don't feel a bit of a fool for going overboard with the Horcruxes? For not thinking the consequences all the way through? Do you think I don't feel rather horrified by the prospect of living forever in a broken body? With a wife who is perpetually seventeen years of age?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "I am twenty-two, and you are forty-six, and we are going to find a way for you to be healthy again."

He looked awfully sceptical, but Bellatrix felt a surge of determination in her chest. She squeezed his hand again and snarled through clenched teeth, "You are the great Lord Voldemort, and I will not watch you fall apart before my eyes. I will not rest, My Lord, until there is an answer."

He shut his eyes and sighed. "Look at us, ruining your birthday with silliness such as this."

"This is far more important than any birthday," Bellatrix insisted. She pulled herself off the bed and took her heavy velvet robe from the wardrobe.

"Where are you going?" Voldemort demanded from where he sat. Bellatrix paused in the bedroom's doorway and said over her shoulder,

"We have thousands of books in this castle, and I refuse to believe you've read every single page of each of them. I'm going to do research."

"Do it in the morning, Bella," Voldemort said, a hint of regret in his voice. "I've been putting up with this for awhile now; it can wait until morning."

"Well, I can't wait," Bellatrix said simply, and without another word, she padded down the spiral staircase.

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_22 September 1972_

"Well? Have you found the solution?"

Bellatrix looked up from the book she was reading, a thick and ancient tome about rare medical magic. She frowned a little when she noticed that Voldemort had spectacles on; she'd never once seen him wearing a pair.

"When did you get those?" she demanded, gesturing up to his face. He looked almost bored, pushing the rectangular, wire-rimmed frames up the bridge of his nose.

"I made them a few weeks ago. Takes a few hours sometimes for the Clarity Potion to kick in."

"So very much you've been hiding from me," Bellatrix noted in what she knew to be a very surly voice. She turned the page in the book on her lap and admitted, "I have not found any useful information, no. There's a rather unsurprising lack of information about Horcruxes in these texts, much less information about the physical effects from making so many. Do you suppose that Croatian witch is still alive?"

Voldemort crossed his arms over his open dress shirt and nodded. "Probably. She was hundreds of years old when I met her."

"And when was that?" Bellatrix asked, knowing she was pushing him and finding herself unable to keep from doing so. This was important; something awful was happening to his body. She wouldn't accept that for him. He sighed and shrugged.

"Fifty-six, I think. Summer of fifty-six. She lived just outside Dubrovnik."

Bellatrix shut the book in her lap and asked carefully, "Do you suppose you'd know how to find her?"

"I'm not going to Croatia to find that witch, Bellatrix," Voldemort said in a sharp tone. "I'm a bit too recognisable these days, hmm?"

"Well, I'll go, then," Bellatrix said confidently. "I'll go by myself and -"

"No. No, you will not." He was very harsh all of a sudden, and Bellatrix frowned up at him as he said, "This isn't killing me, Bellatrix. It's inconvenient and unpleasant, but it isn't killing me. The entire Magical community the world over knows who we both are; neither of us is going to hunt down that crone in search of information about physical degradation from creating Horcruxes. Even if you went alone, disguised… that sort of information is much too sensitive to be -"

"So you're just going to sit here and let your joints and vision fall apart because you're too stubborn to actually get help from the witch who told you about this in the first place?" Bellatrix flew up from her chair and glared up at Voldemort, who seemed mildly irritated at having been interrupted. He pushed his spectacles up his nose again, and Bellatrix let out a bitter, quiet laugh at the notion that he was not exactly an expert optician. She turned away from him, but he took her elbow and gently turned her back to face him. He cocked up one eyebrow and said rather gently,

"I recognise and appreciate your concern. No, Bella; I actually do. But trying to fix this will mean treading very,  _very_  carefully to avoid damaging my reputation. If we have no better information by the new year, then you can Transfigure your features, and I'll tell you how to find that crone in Croatia."

"The new year," Bellatrix repeated. She nodded up at Voldemort, noticing now how much deeper the lines were around his lips and eyes. She squared her jaw and demanded, "Do you promise? Do you swear to me that if you're still having these problems by the new year, I can go to Croatia?"

"Yes," Voldemort nodded. "I promise." He blinked a few times and pulled off his spectacles, folding them and tucking them into the pocket of his dress shirt. He blinked hard again a few times and sighed with frustration, pulling the spectacles right back out and putting them back on. "If anyone asks, I've always had vision problems and am tired of using potions to address them."

Bellatrix gave him a very hard stare and crossed her arms over her robe. "What else is wrong with you?"

He scoffed and put his hands on his hips, but Bellatrix raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Don't you suppose it would be wise to monitor all these symptoms?"

"I'm monitoring them," Voldemort assured her, but Bellatrix's breath shook and her eyes burned as she said,

"I would like to know exactly what is wrong with my husband, please."

He rolled his eyes a little behind the lenses of the spectacles and mumbled, "Everything's gotten significantly worse in the past few months. The vision's gone bad and isn't responding to the potion anymore. My hair's all fallen out. The wrist and knee are the worst, but my elbows and ankles are stiff and fragile. I'll get to the top of a flight of stairs and find my heart's racing and I'm out of breath. It's much harder to pull myself out of bed in the morning."

Bellatrix shook her head in disbelief. "Is that all?"

He nodded carefully. "For now, yes."

She closed her eyes, feeling tears form as she whispered, "Is this why you haven't made love to me in so long?"

She'd thought it had been because of how busy they'd both been, because he'd been working long days and just didn't have anything left by the time they made it to bed. He'd held her and kissed her and murmured through the dark room that he loved her. He'd done that every single night, and so Bellatrix hadn't found herself angry about the fact that he hadn't actually been inside of her body in six weeks. Now she opened her eyes and gave him a serious look as she demanded,

"Is it because everything hurts? Because you're too tired? Is that why you can't do it?"

His eyes flashed behind his spectacles, and he snarled in a harsh voice,

"You think I can't do it, little girl? Is that what you think?"

Bellatrix threw her hands up and demanded, "What else am I meant to think?"

"Don't worry; I can do it just fine," he informed her, taking a few steps closer to hover above her. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes up at him and shrugged.

"Go on, then. Do it."

She gasped then as he seized her jaw roughly in his hand and smashed his mouth against hers. He tasted like tooth powder and smelled like soap, and Bellatrix was dizzy with how hard he was kissing her. He dragged his tongue around the inside of her mouth and sucked her lip between his teeth as his fingers yanked at the belt of her robe. He pushed it off her shoulders and shoved her back toward the bookshelves. Bellatrix gasped again when her back slammed against the books, and Voldemort grunted with desire, sliding his fingers up the inside of her thigh. He pulled his mouth from hers, touching his forehead to hers as his fingertips found the wet folds between her legs.

"You think I can't make you come?" he muttered, and Bellatrix whispered back,

"That isn't what I said."

"Well, I can. I can make you come just fine," he promised her. As if to prove his point, he began to draw circles on her nub with his thumb. She was dry because she was anxious, and he gave her a meaningful look as he mumbled, " _Lubrico._ "

His fingers moved more easily then, and Bellatrix stared at him over the wire rims of his glasses as he deepened the pressure he was using. Eventually he twisted two fingers into her, hooking them and continuing to massage her most sensitive spot. Bellatrix's breath quickened in her nostrils, and on instinct she reached up to wrap her arms around Voldemort's shoulders. He used his free hand to squeeze at one of her breasts, and he bent down to kiss her neck with long strokes of his tongue.

It was all far too much - his fingers, his kiss, his hand. Bellatrix tipped her head back against the books and found herself whining for him over and over again.  _My Lord, My Lord…_  Her voice was quiet but desperate in the library, and when he made all his movements more intense, she cried out and came for him. Everything was hot and bright for a few moments, and when he finally pulled his hand from her body, he raised his eyes to her again and cocked up an eyebrow.

"See?" he demanded rather defensively. He flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form, and though she could sense intense desire from him, she glanced down to see a very noticeable lack of bulge in his trousers. She tried to catch her breath enough to sound reasonable as she asked,

"Are you going to sit me up on the ledge and let me wrap my legs around your waist now? So that you can drill me into the -"

"Don't do that to me," Voldemort said softly. He turned away, and she heard him mutter a wandless  _Tergeo_  to clean up the hand he'd used on her. Bellatrix gulped hard and reminded him,

"There are potions and spells to help with that particular issue."

"Do you suppose I've not tried those?" He sounded darkly amused as he stared at her over his shoulder. He straightened his spectacles again and dragged his hand over his bald head. "How many nights do you think I've been beside you, desperate to take you? I've tried every potion, Bellatrix. Every spell. It doesn't… it hasn't worked properly since that night six weeks ago. Don't worry; I'll be sure that you're satisfied. I've still got fingers and a mouth and a wand, haven't I?"

Bellatrix felt horrified then, and she shook her head roughly as she informed him, "I am not concerned with whether or not I have enough orgasms, My Lord. I'm frightened about what this means. What all of it means when you put it all together. Why have you kept all of this from me? Did you think I was too stupid to process it?"

"No," he said quite sharply, but Bellatrix stepped away from the wall and asked frantically,

"Did you think I would be angry with you?"

He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "No."

"Then  _why_?" Bellatrix snapped, reaching for his shoulders and giving him a little shake. "I'm your bloody wife; I'm  _The Lady_. Why have you been lying to me?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this, with fear and panic," he said very calmly. He shook his head and promised her, "I'm not going to fall apart, little thing. I refuse to fall apart."

"You're already falling apart!" Bellatrix exclaimed. She reached up to pull his spectacles carefully from his face. She turned them around so she could glance through the lenses. She was shocked at how strong the adjustment was, and what that said about the current state of his vision. Indeed, his eyes seemed profoundly unfocused as he stared down at her, and she silently handed the glasses back over. He slid them back onto his face and then leaned down to put a kiss on Bellatrix's forehead.

"We'll search like mad for answers," he murmured. "If my birthday comes and we've made no progress, then… we'll to go Croatia."

"We." She raised her eyes to him, her eyes searing with concern. "You'll come with me?"

"If you can be disguised, so can I." He thought then of the day they'd killed Dumbledore, when they'd both had their features Transfigured. He nodded. "We'll give it three months to try and solve the problem here, Bella, and if we can't… then we'll go find that old crone. I promise. I promise you I'm not going to fall apart."

Bellatrix nodded, forcing a sad little smile on her face as she informed him, "You look very handsome in glasses, My Lord. I'm going to go get dressed; we've got a meeting with Malfoy in two hours."

She started to walk past him, and he said after her, "You've been awake all night. You can stay here and rest."

She shook her head from the doorway. "I'll take Invigoration Draught. I have precisely no desire to leave your side today, My Lord."

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_22 September 1972_

"We have six employees at the Ministry, My Lord, who are retiring amicably from long careers. Their departures will be scattered over the next two months. I went ahead and had their department heads conduct interviews for replacements. I have the list of suggestions here, and with your permission I shall go ahead and extend them offers."

Abraxas Malfoy pulled a parchment from his folio and passed it across the desk to Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord blinked a few times to focus his vision as best he could; it was worst close up. He finally glared at the parchment over the rim of his glasses and still found himself unable to properly read Malfoy's infuriatingly small writing.

"These should be fine," he lied. He quickly passed the parchment to Bellatrix and raised his eyebrows. "What is your opinion, My Lady?"

He pushed his glasses back up and watched as Bellatrix pursed her lips and read the parchment. Finally she said quietly,

"Minister, all seem like wise choices except for Nestor Avery. In the Department of Magic Law Enforcement? He's a bit daft for that sort of work, don't you think?"

Voldemort's stomach twisted with anger that he hadn't been able to read the list. Nestor Avery possessed the intelligence of a sack of rocks. Abraxas Malfoy nodded his agreement and said with a sour little smile,

"You're quite right, My Lady, that young Nestor is hardly the brightest wizard to have recently left Hogwarts. But, owing to his… parentage… we thought it best to find  _something_  for him. He'd be filing reports into the system in the Improper Use of Magic Office. It's a charity post at best."

"Ah. That's wise," Bellatrix nodded. Her cheeks coloured and she looked at Voldemort a she added, "Especially because of what happened to his brother Tarquin."

"Diplomacy first, eh, My Lady?" Voldemort asked crisply. He took the parchment back from her and put it on the desk before him, managing to see a blurry black line upon which he knew he was meant to sign his name. He reached for a self-inking quill and held it between his fingers as he mumbled to Malfoy, "Go ahead and get the new hires trained as soon as possible so that the transition doesn't affect Ministry efficiency."

"Of course, Master," Malfoy said. Voldemort adjusted his grip on his quill and prepared to put his elegant signature on the paper. But the instant he gripped the quill to write, a terrible pain shot from his fingers up through his wrist. He hissed and dropped the quill, and he watched as Bellatrix gasped softly and managed to keep herself limited to silently wrapping the fingers of her left hand around her own right wrist. Voldemort abruptly felt guilt and shame that he'd caused her pain. He scowled with determination, ignoring Malfoy's look of confusion. He put up a mental wall between himself and Bellatrix so that his pain would be devoured by black smoke before it ever reached her. He snatched the quill off the desk and quickly signed his name to the parchment, his ears ringing from the searing pain in his wrist and hand. The instant he'd crossed the  _t_  in  _Voldemort,_  he set the quill down with fingers he knew were shaking a little.

He shoved his right hand below the desk to hide it and quickly passed the parchment back across the desk to Abraxas Malfoy. He gave his Minister of Magic a challenging look, as if daring the other man to say something about what had happened. Abraxas Malfoy wisely slid the parchment back into his folio and changed the subject.

"So, on a more personal note… Lucius proposed marriage to Narcissa last night after your birthday party, My Lady."

Bellatrix grinned, and Voldemort felt happiness radiating off of her. She nodded and confirmed,

"I received an owl from Narcissa just an hour before you got here, Minister. I'm just surprised they want to get married on Halloween. I'd have thought she'd want more time to prepare everything."

Abraxas laughed a little and said, "Lucius claims she has all her plans written down. All the spells, the merchants, the guest list. All she needed was the proposal and ring and a date, and now she can quickly set to work."

Bellatrix snorted. "Yes, that does sound like Cissy. So, Halloween, then."

She gave Voldemort a meaningful look, and he knew she was thinking that she wanted to address his deteriorating body before the wedding. He took his Occlumency shields down and thought straight at her,

_I told you the new year, and I meant it, Bellatrix._

She frowned for a half second, then expertly recovered as she said lightly, "May I make a suggestion, Minister? My Lord? What if… what if the Dark Lord himself officiated the ceremony? After all, it is the wedding of The Dark Lord's little sister-in-law and the son of the Minister of Magic. If they were bound together by the Dark Lord himself? The optics are good, no?"

Voldemort knew she was right. She was always right about matters like this. He wouldn't allow her to use this as leverage about Croatia. He wouldn't allow her to force his hand just because he'd be standing up in front of a crowd at Malfoy Manor. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"The optics are good," he repeated, and Abraxas Malfoy looked ecstatic as he added, "Tell Lucius and Narcissa to plan on me officiating."

"What a profound honour, My Lord," Malfoy breathed. "I know they'll both be beside themselves with happiness."

"If there's nothing else to address today, Malfoy, you're dismissed," Voldemort said curtly, for he was mentally quite finished with this briefing. Malfoy tucked his folio under his arm and rose from his chair. He bowed very deeply to Voldemort, then to Bellatrix, and he murmured,

"A good day to you, My Lord. My Lady."

He knew well enough at this point that once he'd been dismissed, it was wise to leave quickly. He walked briskly from Voldemort's office, and Bellatrix rose to shut the door behind him. She stared right at Voldemort as she moved to sit opposite him again. As she sank into the chair, she rubbed silently at her right wrist, and Voldemort turned his eyes away.

"I apologise," he said plainly. "I had no time to block it from you; I wasn't quite expecting it."

"You do not need to protect me, My Lord," Bellatrix said, her voice almost stern. Voldemort returned his gaze to hers and stared at her through the lenses of his spectacles.

"You're quite capable of taking care of yourself," he agreed, "but that doesn't mean you need to share my pain. It's not even as though it's diminished by you feeling it. Twice the suffering with no advantage. I put my walls up whenever I can."

Bellatrix was thinking about Croatia again, he knew, but he didn't say anything to that. He watched as she peeled back her left sleeve and stared out the window. Her right thumb started brushing over her Dark Mark, just like it tended to do whenever she was stressed. It was comforting for her to touch her Mark, he knew, and even he felt a rush of relief the instant her Mark flushed black beneath her thumb. She continued staring out the window until she shut her eyes, her lips falling open a little as the sweet feeling deepened. Voldemort felt his veins rush through with a sudden, powerful feeling of pleasure. He found himself with his hands gripping te edge of his desk, his eyelids fluttering behind his glasses as everything came alive inside of him. Bellatrix pulled her hand from her arm and looked like she was about to speak, but then her eyes registered the way Voldemort had gone a bit breathless. He shook his head and whispered,

"Don't stop doing it."

She obeyed him at once, using her four fingers along with her thumb to more urgently caress her Dark Mark. Then it was like she was masturbating right there in her chair, for her own arousal became more significant by the moment. Voldemort remembered the first time this had happened, when she'd been lying in her bed at Hogwarts and he'd been at Malfoy Manor. He licked his dry lips and informed her matter-of-factly,

"I'm hard, Bella."

Her fingers hesitated for a split second and she said, "I thought you said you couldn't -"

"Just stay there and keep going before you spoil it," Voldemort snarled. His hands flew to his trousers, and he unbuttoned them and pulled his cock out. It was strange to wrap his fingers around his length after six weeks of it stubbornly not working properly. He probably hadn't gone this long without an erection in thirty-five years, and he got even harder as his fingers danced around his manhood. He stared straight at Bellatrix as she continued rubbing her arm. Her head tipped back a little as her arousal melded with his. She gasped and let out a little choked sound, squirming in her chair as she rather unexpectedly came.

Her face was strikingly beautiful as ecstasy took her over. Her eyes were just barely closed, and her full lips were parted perfectly. Her pale cheeks had been flushed with a pink that worked its way down her neck and onto her collarbone. Her small, round breasts heaved with shaking, uneven breaths. The sight of her like that combined with the feel of her bliss, and suddenly Voldemort was lost. He yanked his hand down to the base of his cock and snarled through his teeth like an animal. His seed jetted forth and made an enormous mess all over him, but he couldn't care about that as he realised he'd managed to climax for the first time in six weeks. He was so dizzy he could hardly keep his eyes open, even after the best of it had passed.

"Are you all right?" he heard Bellatrix ask, her voice sounding like it was coming from the other side of a tunnel. Voldemort found his breath and blinked through his blurry vision until his gaze settled on Bellatrix. He nodded, and she smiled a little as she stood up and aimed her wand at his lap and muttered a  _Tergeo_. He flashed her a half smile of thanks and tucked himself away, his heart still racing madly as he buttoned his trousers up. Bellatrix walked around his desk, and he pushed his chair out as she moved to stand between his knees. She took his face in his hands and smiled warmly down at him.

"Perhaps you just need quite a lot of sex and more love from your wife than you can process," she teased, but he knew she was only half-kidding. He tipped his head and admitted,

"Seeing as this isn't a matter of depleted magic, but rather a damaged soul, you may well be right, little thing."

Bellatrix tucked her hair behind her ear and reminded him, "You've got an appointment set up with Healer Harvey first thing tomorrow morning. Or, at least, I'm assuming that's why it says  _St Mungo's meeting - private_  in your date book. But you haven't got anything else on the docket for today."

"What a fine little secretary our magnificent Lady is," Voldemort said in a bit of a surly tone. He studied her face and noted the fatigue in her eyes. He reached for her hand and brushed his thumb over hers as he examined her features more closely. Even as tired as she was, she was so youthful and almost painfully lovely. She was short enough that, standing here before his chair, her face was only a little higher than his. He suddenly wanted to hold her, to kiss her. He adjusted his glasses as they slipped down his nose a bit, and he reminded her,

"You didn't sleep a wink last night."

She smirked. "No, I did not, and the Invigoration Draught is wearing off. I could use a little nap."

"Mind if I join you?" He stood and hovered over her, wondering if her half-jesting suggestion could be right. Was there a chance that any of this degradation might improve with enough positive interaction with her? Could they rebuild his damaged soul with an overdose of the one thing he'd never thought he could feel? It was certainly worth a try, he thought, before they went slogging off to Croatia.

She silently took his hand and started to walk from his office toward the staircase that went up to their bedroom. She was moving too fast, he thought, and he pulled back on her hand to slow her. She glanced over her shoulder and seemed to understand, her gaze darkening as Voldemort climbed the stairs slowly and carefully. His heart still accelerated enough that he had to take a moment at the top to lean against the bannister, but his head spun less than it had done the last time he'd climbed stairs. He felt Bellatrix's hand rubbing gently at his back, and she said firmly,

"Let's go lie down. I'm so tired, My Lord."

He smiled to himself at her indomitable sense of diplomacy. He followed her into the bedroom, peeling off his outer robe and kicking off his shoes. His chest pulled with fresh want as she stripped down to her knickers and bra and climbed beneath the blankets. He followed her there, lying on his back and shutting his eyes as he waited for her to curl up against him. Then he felt her hands carefully pulling his spectacles from his face; he'd forgotten to take them off. She set them down on the table beside him and kissed his cheekbone before snuggling against him.

"I love you," she whispered, snaring his arm around him. He nodded and pulled her more tightly against his body, wincing a little as he remembered how the pain in his wrist had hit her. He gulped and said honestly,

"And I love you, Bella. More today than any day that's come before. Get some sleep."

* * *

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_St Mungo's Hospital, London_

_23 September 1972_

"And this is the fourth floor, of course. Spell damage." Healer Harvey nodded politely as they passed a Mediwitch in the corridor near the lift. Harvey was pretending to give the Dark Lord and the Lady a tour of the hospital so that it would be less obvious that Voldemort had come for his own needs. Bellatrix had offered to stay home, but he'd insisted that the optics were better if she were with him. It would look like a charitable visit, he'd said. Besides, he'd insisted, having her in the meeting with Healer Harvey was desirable now that she knew what was actually going on.

"And everyone on this floor is been damaged by jinxes and hexes, Healer Harvey?" Bellatrix feigned curiosity as they stepped into the ward. Everyone they passed gasped and bowed and curtsied with nervous energy crackling around them. Harvey nodded and confirmed,

"We might get someone who took far too many minor spells in a duel, My Lady, or a person who's been the victim of an irreversible spell. In fact, there's one patient in particular I should like to show the both of you, if you don't mind."

He walked quickly down the ward, and Bellatrix could tell Voldemort was struggling to keep up with the pace of the Healer's steps. She gave him an encouraging look as they walked past the beds of patients, but his gaze was locked ahead. He had brought his glasses with him, just in case, but he wasn't wearing them at the moment. The Clarity Potion had worked better today, apparently.

"My Lord, My Lady… this is Alphonsa Rosier," said Healer Harvey, gesturing to a bed at the end of the ward. A girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen stared wide-eyed at Bellatrix and Voldemort, her mouth falling open as she registered just who stood before her. Bellatrix knew this girl - she was her second cousin on her mother's side.

"Alphonsa," Bellatrix said warmly, stepping up to the girl's bed. "I heard what happened to you. Headmistress Carrow told me."

Alphonsa opened her mouth again, looking a little frustrated, and Healer Harvey explained to Lord Voldemort,

"Miss Rosier got into an argument with a fellow student at Hogwarts, My Lord. Miss Rosier was informing the other student of the importance of never fraternising with Muggles or Mudbloods. The other student, a Gryffindor, attacked Miss Rosier with a very powerful Silencing Hex that's proven to be very stubborn."

"The other student was expelled," Bellatrix assured Voldemort, and he nodded crisply. He turned his face to Bellatrix's young cousin and said primly,

"Continue to speak out for what's right, Miss Rosier, and there will be a good place for you among the ranks of the righteous once you leave school. Even now, you are a soldier for our cause. Heal quickly."

He paused then, giving Healer Harvey a strange look. He pulled his own wand out and aimed it straight at Alphonsa Rosier, who looked abruptly terrified. Bellatrix took a half step back, and Voldemort incanted firmly,

" _Dabo Vox_."

Alphonsa made a little spluttering sound, her hands flying to her throat for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and marveled,

"Thank you, My Lord."

Bellatrix grinned, and Healer Harvey looked stunned.

"My Lord… what was that…? I'm not familiar with that spell, Master."

Voldemort shrugged. "Something from a very old text; I'd never found a use for it until now."

"Th-thank you. Thank you, Master," Alphonsa nodded again, and Healer Harvey looked delighted.

"Do you see, Miss Rosier, how merciful and powerful our Dark Lord is?" he asked. Alphonsa turned to the Healer and asked,

"Does this mean I can go back to Hogwarts soon?"

Bellatrix laughed and said to Voldemort, "Her priorities are sorted out."

"So they are. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rosier," Voldemort said. He gave Bellatrix an expectant look, and she stepped away from her cousin as the girl stammered more gratitude.

"Remarkable, My Lord. Truly remarkable," Healer Harvey was saying. At the very end of the ward, they walked through a door that led to a darker corridor. Apparently this was where individual Healers had their offices. Healer Harvey opened a door with his name stenciled on the wood, and inside was an elegant but small office. He gestured to two leather chairs on one side of his desk and suggested,

"Please, My Lord, My Lady, will you sit?"

Once everyone was situated, Harvey sighed and glanced from Bellatrix to Voldemort. He drummed his fingers on his desk and sounded a bit nervous as he confessed,

"I'm afraid I have no real news for you, My Lord. All my research has led to dead ends."

"I'm not surprised by that," Voldemort said crisply. He reached into his robes and pulled out his spectacles, pulling them on his face as he admitted, "The Clarity Potion's wearing off."

"I'm afraid it's not safe to dose more than once a day, My Lord," Healer Harvey said carefully. "How are your joints? Is the butterfly weed balm helping?"

Voldemort squared his jaw. "No. Not really."

Harvey looked profoundly ill at ease then, and Bellatrix decided to go ahead and speak up.

"Yesterday the Dark Lord and I had an… intimate encounter," she said, and both the wizards in the room instantly went red-faced. Voldemort glared at her, shocked and angry, but she continued, "It seemed to alleviate at least a few of the physical symptoms for a short time."

Healer Harvey did not know that Lord Voldemort had created Horcruxes, so there was no way for him to fully understand the complexity of the situation. Indeed, he seemed a little surprised as he said carefully to Voldemort,

"Then, My Lord, you found a solution for the… the… impotence?"

Voldemort looked more angry than ever, and Bellatrix could sense his humiliation rolling off his body. He shrugged and said crisply, "Apparently with a young and pretty wife, Healer Harvey, anything is possible."

Now it was Bellatrix's turn to be embarrassed. Poor Healer Harvey looked as though he wanted no part of any of this. Suddenly Bellatrix realised just how useless this meeting was. She lowered her gaze but thought straight at Voldemort,

_How the blazes is he meant to fix anything if he doesn't understand what's causing it? If you don't explain the connection between our Marks, how can he comprehend why your cock suddenly works again?_

Voldemort cleared his throat roughly and said, "Healer Harvey… much as I appreciate your assistance with all of this, I'm not sure you're going to be able to help me going forward."

Harvey frowned deeply and promised, "My Lord, I shall do absolutely everything I can to help you alleviate -"

" _Obliviate._ " Voldemort had raised his wand, and he twisted it as Healer Harvey's eyes went completely blank. Bellatrix sighed. She wasn't surprised that Voldemort had chosen to do this, especially now that Harvey knew so much and understood so little. It was dangerous for a Healer to know that the Dark Lord had been suffering with aching joints and impotence. It was even worse when said Healer had no idea that that was all because the Dark Lord was immortal.

After what felt like an eternity, Voldemort lowered his wand and tucked it away. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as Harvey seemed to blink his way out of a haze. The Healer smiled warmly and said,

"Really, My Lord, that was magnificent, the way you helped that girl speak again."  
"It was nothing," Voldemort said smoothly. "When can we expect more news about the Vanishing Sickness outbreak?"

"Well, we haven't had a new case in three months, Master," said Healer Harvey. "We believe the outbreak has been fully contained at this point."

"Wonderful." Voldemort stood from his chair and straightened his robes. "No need to show us out, Healer Harvey; we can find our way. Thank you again for the tour."

"It was an honour and a privilege to have you visit, My Lord. My Lady." Healer Harvey bowed to each of them, and Bellatrix followed Voldemort out into the corridor. She said nothing as he took her hand and Disapparated back to Archer's Edge. Once they were in their own library, she folded her arms over her chest as asked,

"Did you go there just to Obliviate him?"

"No. I wasn't sure he could help, but I decided to Obliviate him once you told him… you know…"

"That you're not actually impotent?" Bellatrix snapped, and Voldemort rolled his eyes as he made his way to the chair in the corner of the room. He sank into the armchair and took his glasses off, setting them in his lap as he admitted,

"I've never felt tired just from Apparating a few times and casting a few simple spells."

"To be fair, My Lord, Obliviating someone is always tiring for me. If I do it right, anyway. I suppose if you're willing to turn someone into a stuttering moron, it's probably easy."

He scoffed a little and kept his eyes shut as held his hand out toward one of the bookshelves. He couldn't be  _too_  tired, Bellatrix thought to herself, or else he would have been able to wandlessly, nonverbally Summon a specific book. He held it up as though silently offering it to Bellatrix, and as she got closer, she swallowed hard. It was the storybook they'd taken from her parents' library, the one with the story about the couple with the mental link. Bellatrix took the book and asked,

"Shall I read?"

Voldemort nodded, looking rather relaxed as he put his long fingers around the arms of the chair. Bellatrix opened the book to page seventy-two, to the story called "The United Life of Mr and Mrs Moreau." She cleared her throat and began to pace slowly as she read.

" _Once upon a time, there lived a man called Mr Moreau. He was particularly fond of the Dark Arts from the time he was a small boy. He studied every Dark skill he could, and by the time he was grown, he was feared in his small village. Everyone was terrified of crossing him - everyone except for a beautiful young witch. This witch was not frightened. Rather, she was entranced."_

Bellatrix read all the way through the story through the part where Mr Moreau thought that love would make him weak, through the part where the couple became a feared and powerful team. She read through the part where they began to feel one another, and then eventually to feel the same things. Finally Bellatrix read the end of the story.

" _She could hear him; he could feel her. Mr and Mrs Moreau became more powerful together than any two people ought to be. They could change the weather. They could flatten castles. And they did all this and more, their magic augmenting one another's. So often we hear that Dark Magic and love are incompatible. But the reality, as shown by the Moreaus, is that when Dark Magic and love combine, the power that results is unrivaled._ "

Bellatrix shut the book and raked her fingers through her curls. Voldemort cracked his eyes open, but she could tell he couldn't actually see her. He finally gave in and reached for his glasses. Bellatrix smirked at him and demanded,

"Did you design those yourself? The spectacles?"

Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow. "Yes, Madam Black. I did. Something wrong with them?"

"Let me have them for a moment." Bellatrix held out her hand, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he asked sceptically,

"What exactly are you going to do to them?"

"I'm going to make them stylish!" Bellatrix grinned, and Voldemort snorted a laugh.

"No, thank you."

Bellatrix walked right up to the armchair, setting the storybook on the ground as she climbed onto Voldemort's lap. He seemed a little surprised, even more so when Bellatrix pulled the spectacles off his face. She studied the brass wire rims and pulled her wand out. She glided the tip of her wand around the glasses and murmured,

" _Lignum Nigra._ "

The uneven brass wire transformed into a thin outline of black wood. The spectacles were still streamline and elegant, but they had a slightly more substantial and mature look about them. Bellatrix felt quite satisfied with herself as she slid the spectacles back onto Voldemort's face. He was ridiculously handsome with the new look, she thought. His bald head and his vibrant eyes behind the academic-looking glasses. He laughed a little and tipped his head.

"You're attracted to me with your new creation, hm? Make me a mirror, then, since you've got your wand out already. At least let me see."

" _Speculo._ " Bellatrix drew an oval in the air beside her, and a simple metal-handled mirror appeared from the ether. She turned it so that Voldemort could see, and he snorted a little as he touched at the thin black wood rims Bellatrix had put on his spectacles.

"Not bad, Bella. Have you considered opening a magical optometry shop in Diagon Alley?"

Bellatrix tossed the mirror up in the air and Vanished it before it could hit the ground. She tucked her wand away and took her husband's face in her hands, curling up half her mouth at him.

"Is that what I should be doing with my time, My Lord? Selling things in a shop?"

"I did it," he reminded her, tipping his chin up.

"And did you find that to be rewarding work, My Lord?" Bellatrix lowered her face and touched her lips to his neck. His hands pressed against her back as he whispered,

"It was one step in a chain of events that led me to you. So I don't regret it."

It was one of the more sincerely gentle things he'd ever said to her, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to stare at him. His own dark eyes were magnified a little by the thick lenses of his glasses, but they were warmer than usual. Very much on instinct, Bellatrix reached for his right hand and brought his wrist to her lips. She remembered the shock of pain that had gone through her own wrist when he'd gripped the quill in his office to write his name. She shut her eyes and pressed her lips firmly to his wrist, moving her kiss all around the joint. She had almost no idea what compelled her to do so, but she thought hard about the ligaments and muscles healing up. She sent every bit of love she bore him straight from her mouth onto his skin, and she heard herself moan just a little as she contemplated how much she adored him. Voldemort made a sudden strangled sound, and Bellatrix tore her mouth away.

"I'm sorry," she panted, swallowing hard as she met his disbelieving face. "Have I hurt you?"

He shook his head minutely. "Very much the opposite."

She watched as he rolled his wrist around. He opened and closed a fist a few times, and she could feel awe and shock washing off of him. His mouth fell open, and finally he said,

"You were right. I don't need a Healer; I just need you, Bella."

He pulled her face against his, kissing her like he was never going to see her again. Bellatrix let him rake his tongue over the roof of her mouth as she concentrated on healing him. She thought of him agile and sharp, the way he'd been when she'd first met him. Voldemort grunted a bit and pulled her face back.

"Easy, little thing," he panted. "Careful. I don't want to drain you. Let's see how the wrist is in a few days and go from there, eh?"

Bellatrix nodded fervently, feeling a surge of hope go through her veins. She couldn't tell if the sensation was Voldemort's or her own, but then she thought of the Moreaus from the story and the way that their thoughts had eventually become indistinguishable. Bellatrix brushed a knuckle over the sleek new frames of Voldemort's spectacles, and she studied him for a long moment. She was almost overcome, all of a sudden, with love for the terrifying, intelligent, funny, affectionate, powerful wizard she knew him to be. She bent to kiss him, just once and very carefully, and then she nodded.

"I've always known I that I was made just for you, My Lord." she said. "Now I know why."

He pulled her back into a kiss, neither of them holding anything back this time. Bellatrix started to cycle her hips against his, feeling him go hard beneath her. She could feel him loving her, and she sent the sensation straight back at him.

She'd been made for him, to stand beside him as he ruled over everyone. She'd been made so that she could serve him, as his diplomat and his soldier and his secretary. She'd been made to love him. And now she knew, too, that she had been made to heal him.

* * *

_Black Family Residence, London_

_30 September 1972_

"I came as quickly as I could," Bellatrix said to her mother, who looked awfully confused where she stood in the foyer of the townhouse. Bellatrix shrugged and said as though it were obvious, "Cissy sent an owl and said it was extremely urgent."

Druella opened her mouth, her brows furrowing, but suddenly Narcissa's voice sounded from the top of the staircase.

"Oh! There you are! Thank goodness."

She pattered down the stairs, and both Bellatrix and Druella stared at her like she had three heads. Narcissa raked her fingers anxiously through her blonde hair and giggled nervously.

"Just some… extremely important wedding planning… sisterly things, you know, Mummy?"

"Oh." Druella looked pleasantly surprised and nodded. "Yes. You girls take all the time you need. Let me know if you'd like tea. Bellatrix, darling, it's so good to see you."

She kissed her eldest daughter's cheek and headed off down the corridor. Bellatrix scowled at her little sister before following her back up the stairs. As they went into Narcissa's rose-coloured bedroom, Bellatrix hissed,

"You know I'm missing a meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Cissy? You sent an owl making it seem like your hair was on fire, so this had better be a damned important wedding plan."

Narcissa shut the bedroom door and put her back flat against it. The smile she'd worn downstairs suddenly disappeared, and she said simply to Bellatrix,

"I'm pregnant."

Bellatrix couldn't speak for a moment. Finally she blinked quickly and picked her jaw up off the floor. "I beg your pardon?"

Narcissa wrung her hands together in front of her and repeated, "I'm pregnant. Just… four or five weeks. It's quite early. It was an accident. Obviously."

Bellatrix scoffed and shrugged. "Well, Cissy, it's fixed easily enough. I can brew the potion for you if you'd like."

"What?" Narcissa looked horrified and shook her head. "No. No, I'm not going to… I  _want_  this baby. It happened a tad bit earlier than planned, that's all. The only reason I'm telling you… with all due respect… is because I know it's a crime not to report a Pureblood pregnancy. But I can't go to the Ministry. Not before the wedding."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Consider it reported. You know I'll have to tell him. The Dark Lord. I don't keep any secrets from him."

Narcissa nodded. "Will he be angry?"

"He probably won't care, to be honest," Bellatrix said honestly. "He has more important things to do, like meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You know, the meeting I skipped because you made it sound like your death was imminent."

"Sorry." Narcissa sighed anxiously and said, "I won't keep you. Thank you for coming by. I thought it better that I tell you in person."

Bellatrix tucked her sister's silky blonde hair behind her ear and noted, "I swear, if you and Lucius produce a child who isn't ice-blond and pale as a ghost, I'll be wondering where you've been sleeping, Cissy."

Narcissa laughed a little and asked, "Have you decided what you'll wear to the wedding?"

"You haven't told me a colour," Bellatrix pointed out, and Narcissa looked a little surprised.

"I… didn't think I was permitted to dictate your attire," she admitted. "I figured you'd wear black. And it's Halloween, after all."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Black it is, then. The Dark Lord's looking forward to officiating."

"Is he really?" Narcissa could sense when Bellatrix was making things up, and the elder sister rolled her eyes.

"He'll enjoy it. Congratulations, Cissy. I know this is what you want, even if the timing's a bit off. I'll see you soon. I should go."

"Thank you, My Lady," Narcissa said formally, and Bellatrix nodded once as she Disapparated from where she stood.

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_30 September 1972_

"So you're telling me that only four of the thirty-five applicants actually fit the standards?" Voldemort asked in disbelief. Malabit Rowle frowned deeply and admitted,

"This year's crop was very weak, My Lord."

There was a firm knock on the office door, and he knew it was her. He could feel her on the other side of the threshold. He wandlessly opened the office door, and Bellatrix came walking inside as Malabit Rowle flew to her feet and bowed her head.

"Forgive the intrusion, My Lord," Bellatrix said. "The issue I to which I was attending didn't take as long as I'd expected. I don't want to interrupt, but I wasn't sure if you wanted me in this meeting or not."

"Yes. Sit down, please." Voldemort sent a chair scooting backwards for her, and Bellatrix smiled a little greeting to Malabit Rowle as both witches sat. He sighed a little and told Bellatrix, "Only four of the thirty-five applicants for Auror training met the traditional benchmarks for admission to the programme."

"Four?" Bellatrix scowled. "Out of thirty-five? So what happened? Do we need better recruiting?"

"To be honest, My Lord, My Lady," Malabit Rowle said carefully, "these were the most qualified applicants from the potential pool. They just weren't qualified enough. I'm not sure if the solution is to alter the admission standards…?"

"No," Voldemort snapped. "No, the last thing we want is to build up a force of underqualified Aurors. Wherever resistance is hiding, they'll win battles against underqualified Aurors. It's much better to have a smaller, stronger force for now. Only take the four that actually qualified."

"Yes, My Lord," Rowle nodded. "But for the future?"

"The problem is almost certainly at Hogwarts," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort threw his eyebrows up sceptically. Bellatrix clarified, "These past few years have been a serious adjustment at the school. Almost entirely new staff and curriculum, different testing methods, a radically altered student body. I suggest that energy be focused on ensuring that Hogwarts graduates are leaving the school with adequate skill sets."

"Quite right," Voldemort nodded. "My Lady, I'd like an owl sent to Headmistress Carrow today on the matter. Instruct her that it is of utmost importance that the school be preparing students more rigorously. And let's get a meeting planned with her, whilst we're at it."

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. Malabit Rowle looked very pleased with that response, and she reassured Voldemort,

"We shall only take the four that qualified this year, My Lord, and I'll instruct the Auror Office to keep admissions standards as they are."

"Thank you, Madam Rowle. You're dismissed, if you've nothing else," Voldemort said crisply. Malabit Rowle rose and bowed deeply, and Voldemort rang a little bell on his desk to Summon one of their House-Elves, the little creature called Bakky.

"Show Madam Rowle out, Bakky," Voldemort ordered the elf, and Bellatrix nodded her farewell as the Ministry witch followed Bakky from the office. Once they'd gone, Bellatrix rose and shut the door. Something was bothering her terribly, he could tell, and he asked a bit too sharply, "What's wrong with Narcissa?"

Bellatrix huffed as she sat back down. She rubbed at her temples and finally said, "She's pregnant."

"Oh. Is that all?" Voldemort felt annoyed, for when Narcissa's owl had come, Bellatrix had acted as though it were a bona fide emergency. Now Bellatrix smirked and informed him,

"You know, it is rather a significant event to become pregnant."

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest. "Really? Is it so significant that Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, who have been clamoring at one another since they were toddlers, somehow forgot a contraceptive spell? I confess, I'm shocked by this news."

She laughed a little at his sarcasm, and then she said, "I did offer to brew up a termination potion, but she refused."

"Of course she did," Voldemort snapped. "And now you know why the wedding is a month from now."

Bellatrix frowned with confusion, and Voldemort was a bit surprised that she hadn't caught on.

"Lucius' urgency in proposing on your birthday? She'd probably just found out and told him. And they'd want to get married as quickly as possible so she isn't showing by then."

"Ohh…" Realisation very evidently dawned on Bellatrix, and she threw her hands up. "Cissy, you silly girl. Well, all right, then. I suppose there'll be a miniature Malfoy come next… what… June?"

"I don't know the maths on it, and frankly I don't care," Voldemort admitted, and Bellatrix smiled more widely than ever.

"I told her that. Told her that you wouldn't care. Well. Shall I go get that owl off to Headmistress Carrow?"

"Yes, do," Voldemort nodded. "If I send it, it'll seem like I'm threatening her position because of insufficient NEWT scores."

"Are you threatening her position?" Bellatrix asked. "It would help me craft a better letter if I know what the stakes are."

Voldemort tipped his head and said, "Between you and me? Yes, I'm threatening her position. If she can't see to it that Hogwarts is churning out qualified graduates, then she'll be replaced. Make that… vaguely clear, if you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean." Bellatrix nodded and rose from her chair, and as she started to leave for her own office, Voldemort felt a swell of adoration for her. She paused at the doorway and drummed her fingers on the threshold as she asked, "How's your knee feeling?"

"Much better," Voldemort said honestly. A few days before, Bellatrix had spent an hour caressing him there whilst they talked about boating in Spain and whether they each preferred mussels or oysters. They'd discussed the merits of elf-made wine as they'd consumed quite a lot of it. All the while Bellatrix had sent her affection straight into his damaged body, and now the improvement was quite clear. Voldemort turned up the corners of his mouth and told her, "I came down the stairs this morning without so much as a crack or an ache."

Bellatrix grinned, her eyes shining, and she said firmly, "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that, My Lord."

"I have some idea," he assured her, for he could feel her blissful relief quite clearly through their mental link. Bellatrix tapped the threshold and turned to go, her boots audible on the stone floor as she went to her own office.

Voldemort turned his chair to stare out the window for a while, watching as a small flock of black birds landed on the moor outside the castle. They pecked around for a bit before fluttering away again, and then Voldemort could see why they'd panicked. A stray cat, a scraggly-looking inky black thing, had leapt at them across the grass. Voldemort chuckled and momentarily considered catching the cat to give to Bellatrix. But it seemed quite content with itself out on the muddy moor, so he left it alone. He dragged his hands over his bald head as he so often did, but this time his hands froze. He blinked a few times, adjusted his glasses on his face, and ran his hand backward again.

Stubble. There was stubble there. It was so slight that he could barely feel it, but he flew to his feet and stared at himself in the mirror on the wall just the same. He could swear there was a hint of a dark shadow on his scalp. Suddenly he found himself walking briskly from his office, barging into Bellatrix's own space as she looked up from her desk.

"I'm almost finished; just a few more lines," she said, and he nodded as he paced anxiously. Bellatrix set her quill down and asked, "What's the matter?"

"Finish the letter," Voldemort insisted. Bellatrix scowled but picked her quill back up, her hand flying as she finished off the admonishment to Hadley Carrow. She signed her name -  _The Lady Bellatrix Black_  - with a bit of a flourish, then blew on the ink and folded the letter. She sealed it up with Voldemort's Dark Mark wax seal and then rang her own bell to Summon Bakky.

"My Lord. My Lady." The House-Elf nearly toppled over from bowing so low, and Bellatrix handed the letter over as she said sharply,

"Send this at once to Hadley Carrow at Hogwarts. Use our best owl."

"Of course, Madam." Bakky took the letter and Disapparated with a crack. Once the elf had gone, Bellatrix stalked over to Voldemort and asked again,

"What's the matter?"

He seized her right hand and brought it up to his head. He dragged her palm back and forth so that she would feel the grain of where his hair had once grown. He knew he must look and sound pathetic, and he also knew that she wouldn't care. He shrugged and asked quietly,

"Am I imagining it?"

Bellatrix's eyes went wide and she shook her head, caressing his head more carefully as a happy smile broke out across her face. "No. No, you're not imagining it. It's growing back."

"Little matter," Voldemort scoffed, feeling his cheeks go hot. "You'll just shave it right back off for me, eh?"

Bellatrix gave him a significant look and insisted, "I shall do whatever you want me to do, but of course the important thing is that the damage is starting to be repaired. If the tangible, demonstrable things like joints and hair are noticeable, imagine how much better the other parts are doing."

His soul, she meant. He nodded and tried again to diffuse the rather pitiful feel of the conversation as he noted, "If my vision ever goes back to normal, I will dearly miss the stylish spectacle frames you crafted for me."

Bellatrix laughed a bit and lowered her hand from his scalp. She pushed back the sleeve on his left arm, and she began to tickle her fingertips around his Dark Mark.

"Bella…" He tried to inject some warning into his voice, but it came out much more like a plea. Her free hand massaged the front of his trousers in tandem with what she was doing to his Mark, and as he started to go hard, she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip.

" _This_  certainly isn't a problem anymore, is it?" she asked, her voice so low and seductive that Voldemort found himself breathless. She deepened the motions of both her hands, and Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut as he choked out,

"Bellatrix, do not tease me. If you do not mean to follow through, then -"

"Oh, I mean to follow through, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded firmly. She gave him a very serious look then as she used both hands to quickly and efficiently unbutton the placket of his trousers. Voldemort glared a little down at her and warned her,

"Don't go trying to heal me right now, little thing. I refuse to let this process wound you. You're not to do any more of that for a few days, you understand?"

She quirked up an eyebrow, a cheeky little smile crossing her full lips as she asked, "Am I not allowed to simply worship your cock, My Lord?"

"What?" He was so taken aback by that that he couldn't move as she sank down onto her knees. He struggled to breathe as she pulled him out and stared up at him, her breasts heaving in her low-cut blouse as she trailed her fingers up his length. She closed her lips around his tip, and the second he felt her tongue swirl around, he clutched at her head.

"Do me a favour and don't ever cut these curls off," he mumbled, his fingers cinching in her wild mane. Bellatrix's voice vibrated against his shaft as she giggled, and Voldemort tipped his head back as he growled, "Bloody hell. I'm not going to last. Sorry."

She didn't seem to mind. She just bobbed her head up and down his length, her right hand following as her left fingers reached into his trousers to fondle the rest of his manhood. Voldemort accidentally bucked his hips forward, shoving his cock straight down Bellatrix's throat. She spluttered and gagged, and he murmured a frantic apology as his hands moved from her hair to her cheeks. She just smiled up at him, and suddenly he thought he should cast a  _Dulcis_  spell to sweeten his seed for her. He started to reach for his wand in his robes, but then he felt her think,

_I just want to taste you the way you are._

That thought pushed him straight over the edge, and he nearly fell over as everything drew up and tightened and then burst forth. Bellatrix moaned like a harlot, her hands flying to his hips as her own body found climax right alongside his. He could feel her coming with him, and somehow it seemed as though each explosion augmented and prolonged the other. Bellatrix greedily gulped down Voldemort's seed as her own orgasm went on. Her fingers clutched at the waistband of his trousers, and her voice was a frantic buzz against his skin. Finally, when Voldemort was very certain his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest, she pulled away from his softening cock and stared at the rug. She was dizzy, he could feel, and had underestimated what would happen.

"Erm… that… that was nice," she said finally. When he snorted a little laugh of disbelief, Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and used the inside of her wrist to wipe at her lips. She winced and smiled nervously as she said, "I know it's cliché to ask, but… was that as good for you as it was for me?"

"Better, I'm very certain," Voldemort said, feeling very thirsty and drowsy as he helped her off the rug. She tucked his soft cock away and buttoned him up, and she stared up at him for a long moment before reaching to cup his jaw in her hand.

"I love you so much it hurts," she whispered. He covered her hand with his and shook his head.

"I don't want to hurt you, Bella."

"You know what I mean," she insisted. Voldemort felt a sudden urge to do something he'd been putting off for entirely too long now. He reached into his trouser pocket, keeping his hand a closed fist around the little object he'd pulled out. He took a shaking breath and informed Bellatrix,

"I have something… erm… it's more than three years late, I'm afraid, but… I wanted you to be the one to put it on, so…"

Bellatrix looked terribly confused until Voldemort brought his fist up and opened it. Bellatrix stared down at his palm, and the simple platinum band he'd had made a few weeks before. Silent tears began to spill almost instantaneously from her eyes, and Voldemort hesitated for a second before joking,

"If it's not sufficiently stylish, you're welcome to… Bella, it was not my intention to make you cry."

She swiped furiously at the steady stream of tears and tried to stop from sniffling. She looked up at him and said, "Happy tears. Promise."

Voldemort smirked and studied the ring again. "I realise that our marriage bond is stronger and more indissoluble than any other, but… well, I confess to sometimes eyeing the wedding bands on other wizards' hands and wondering why the blazes I hadn't been wearing one. Will you go ahead and slide it on, then?"

Bellatrix took the ring from him and whispered, "It's perfectly stylish."

She took his left hand and slid the ring onto the fourth finger, and then she snared her fingers through his and shut her eyes. Suddenly he could feel her willing his body to mend the bits that were still broken. She was imagining him with sharp vision, with a strong and healthy heart. She was thinking of how much she adored the sight of him in the middle of the night, when she'd roll over and just stare at him in the darkness. She was thinking of the sound of him singing when she'd been unconscious. She was thinking of the sight of him in battle, the sound of his voice in a group meeting. She was thinking of his hands on her naked body.

"Bella," Voldemort tried, finding himself unable to scold her for using her unique ability to heal him. He sighed and squeezed her hand. "Bellatrix."

Finally she opened her eyes, a fresh tear worming its way from her eye. Voldemort released her hand and brushed the tear away, lowering his lips to her forehead as he whispered,

"I love you, little thing.  _Ego Uxorem._

Bellatrix reached up and touched at his wedding band, nodding and smiling more contentedly. " _Ego Uxorem,_  My Lord."


	3. Chapter 3

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_31 October 1972_

" _I confess that the last time I witnessed My Lord in public, at the Grand Opening of the Gringotts renovation, I found myself utterly unable to breathe. My Lord, you have haunted my dreams with your sharp eyes and your lovely words. I find myself wanting nothing more than to serve you physically. I realise The Lady holds your heart in marriage, but I write to make myself available to you if at any moment you find yourself in need or want of pleasure. I promise to -_ "

"Bellatrix."

She glanced up, only then realising that she had tears silently streaming down her face. Voldemort frowned at her from the doorway of her office; he'd already put on half of his tuxedo. He gave her a meaningful look and pointed out,

"We need to be at the manor in less than an hour to give everyone plenty of time to prepare. Why are you working right now?"

Bellatrix swiped tears roughly away from her eyes and said quietly, "I'm not working. Not really. I was just… rereading a letter that came in yesterday. That's all."

Voldemort scowled and marched up to her desk, snatching the letter out of her hands. He stared at it over the rims of his glasses and read over it, a look halfway between anger and amusement coming over his features. Finally he demanded,

"Who wrote this?"

"Phoebe Parkinson," Bellatrix sighed. "She was a year behind me in school. You've seen her before; tall and thin with long, straight brown hair and big green eyes."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Voldemort said flatly. He set the letter down and asked Bellatrix, "How long will you need to get ready?"

"I just need to put my hair up, My Lord," she said, but when she rose from her chair, he shook his head and glided his fingers over her curls. He tipped his head and suggested quietly,

"Don't put your hair up. I like it down."

Bellatrix laughed a bit and shook her head. "It's too wild down."

"I like you wild," he said seriously. Bellatrix knew he could feel the way she'd been jealous and angry about the letter for the last day. He flicked his eyes to the desk and said firmly, "I know you advised against this a long time ago, Bella, but… I'm going to have to go against your advice, I'm afraid. I have no desire to receive letters like that. I'm going to issue an edict making it a punishable crime to send personal mail directly to the Dark Lord. No entreaties for Ministry positions, no congratulatory letters from moneyed families that want into the inner circle. And no silly letters like one. You have much better things to do with your time than sort through all that rubbish, anyway."

Bellatrix quirked up half her mouth. "So if Phoebe Parkinson keeps writing you about how much she wants to be your concubine, then…?"

Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow. "Then Phoebe Parkinson will quickly discover how lonely a cell in Azkaban can be. Go get ready, little thing. Your sister's getting married in a few hours."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_31 October 1972_

"You look absolutely lovely, Bella," Narcissa gushed from where she sat. Druella was fixing up Narcissa's makeup, and Bellatrix looked at her own reflection in the mirror beyond her sister.

"The Dark Lord insisted I keep my curls down, so I figured I could at least neaten them up a little," she murmured. "But it's you whose looks matter today, Cissy, and you're a dream. Really."

Her sister had chosen an elegant white gown of silk and velvet, with draping sleeves and a crystal necklace. She really did look wondrous, and Druella grinned as she put the finishing touches on Narcissa's lipstick.

"What a day for the entire family. Your mother feels very lucky, girls."

In response, Narcissa suddenly buckled over where she sat, clutching at her abdomen and shrieking out in abrupt pain.

"Cissy?" Bellatrix whispered, rushing around to stand before her. Druella threw the lipstick she'd been holding down on the boudoir and tipped Narcissa's face up.

"Darling? What's wrong? Have you got a cramp or something?"

"Oh, no. Oh… oh, no. Aaaagh!" Narcissa flew to her feet and dashed off toward the bathroom, and when she did, Bellatrix's heart sank. There was blood all over the back of Narcissa's pristine white skirts, and it formed an obscene stain on the chair where she'd been sitting. Narcissa slammed the bathroom door shut and began to sob, and Druella immediately called out,

"Oh, Narcissa! It's unfortunate to get your period today of all days, but, darling…" She went over to the bathroom door and said through the wood, "Try not to cry, Narcissa; the dress is very easily cleaned up and we'll get you some napkins, all right? It's nothing, sweet girl."

"Mother." Bellatrix's voice was very sharp, and when Druella turned to her, Bellatrix shook her head. "It's not her period."

Druella's face drained of colour, and she murmured frantically, "You mean she… you mean she's  _with child_?"

"Was, it would seem." Bellatrix huffed a breath, shutting her eyes for a moment. Even if she lacked the urgent maternal instinct her sister possessed, there was something fundamentally tragic about Narcissa miscarrying at nine weeks, and on her wedding day of all days. Bellatrix steadied herself and informed Druella, "I'm going to get help. One of the Nott cousins is a Healer; she's probably here already. Go help her; I'll be back."

"Yes. Go." Druella opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, where Narcissa was moaning in an utterly miserable voice. Bellatrix left the guest room and started to make her way down the upstairs corridor. She glanced up to see Voldemort striding quickly toward her in his tuxedo. He threw his hands up as he approached her.

"I could feel from you that something's terribly wrong. What is it?" he demanded. Bellatrix licked her lip and explained,

"Narcissa's miscarried. She's bleeding like a sieve, and naturally she's bound to be distraught about it."

"Merlin's beard." Voldemort chewed his lip and shrugged. "I can stop the bleeding for her, at least."

"You mean with that spell you used on me?" Bellatrix asked incredulously. "The  _permanent_  one? She's going to want more babies, My Lord."

"It doesn't have to be permanent," he said impatiently. "It'll get her through until tomorrow, and then she'll need to be at St Mungo's so they can… you know, get rid of the leftovers."

Bellatrix winced, for that was a particularly gruesome way to talk about a thing like this. But she swallowed hard and nodded, leading the way back to the guest room where she and her mother had been getting Narcissa ready. Once they stepped inside, she saw Voldemort's eyes go to the blood stain on the chair, and he was good enough to be discreet as he pointed his wand at the cushion and murmured a quick  _Tergeo_. Inside the bathroom, Narcissa was still sobbing uncontrollably, and Druella was gently saying,

"Darling, no one is angry that you were pregnant. No one. I'm devastated for you that you've had this loss, but you very well that I lost three babies in between Bellatrix and… well, actually, there were five between Bellatrix and you. Lucius will be fine; you'll be fine. Today will still be beautiful."

Bellatrix realised her mother had avoided mentioning Andromeda's name. She glanced at Voldemort, and he silently pushed his glasses up his nose as he prompted her to announce their presence.

"Cissy!" Bellatrix called, hearing the tremble in her own voice, "Cissy, I've got the Dark Lord here. He's going to help you so that the bleeding stops for today. You can see a Healer first thing tomorrow, eh?"

There was silence in the bathroom for a moment then, until the door creaked open and Druella Rosier came out, curtsying to her son-in-law and saying quietly,

"Forgive us, My Lord. To trouble you today with something like this."

"It's no trouble for me, Madam Black. I only pity the bride, that's all."

"Narcissa!" Druella called over her shoulder, "Do come out so the Dark Lord can help you and you can have your special day. Everyone's already here, after all."

Narcissa finally came stumbling out, her makeup completely destroyed and her dress looking rumpled. They could fix all that, Bellatrix knew. Narcissa sniffled and said in a choked voice,

"I'm sorry, My Lord."

"What on Earth have you to be sorry for, Narcissa?" Voldemort demanded. His voice was a short clip, but there was a hint of mercy there that he usually reserved for Bellatrix. She was grateful then that he'd found his humanity just now for her sister. He cleared his throat and said, "Today is your wedding day. Let's salvage it, shall we?  _Arresto Sanguinalis Hodie_."

Narcissa gasped a little as the spell took her over, and Druella asked carefully,

"So, My Lord, if we get her properly cleaned up and to a Healer tomorrow…"

Voldemort nodded. "Then everything should be fine. Bella, you should go find Lucius and… you know, actually, he'll be getting ready with a room full of wizards. I'll tell him."

"Thank you, My Lord," Druella said very sincerely. Her eyes watered, but she straightened her back and put on the air of a truly noble witch. "Thank you."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_31 October 1972_

"May our life together be long and happy." Lucius Malfoy held both of Narcissa's shaking hands, his smile a little sad as he finished his vows. Voldemort could tell that Narcissa was fighting off intense cramping and pain, and she looked so pale that he was afraid she might keel over. They ought to have dosed her with potions for all of that, he thought. He cleared his throat, glancing out over the large crowd that had assembled for the ceremony. He turned his attention to Bellatrix for a half-second and saw the worry in her face, the way she stared at her sister with a mixture of grief and sorrow. This wasn't how a wedding this anticipated was meant to feel, Voldemort considered, especially since hardly anybody knew what exactly was going on.

"Now I ask the bride to repeat after me," he said crisply. " _I, Narcissa Black, do solemnly and willingly take you, Lucius Malfoy, for my husband._ "

Narcissa hesitated just a half second too long, her face twisting. Voldemort sent a wandless, nonverbal  _Allevio_  at her, and she seemed to find her footing as Lucius squeezed her hands a little. She bravely tipped her chin up and said,

"I, Narcissa Malfoy, do solemnly and willingly take you, Lucius Malfoy, for my… my husband."

She was struggling, Voldemort knew, to stand up here and speak. Once the ceremony was through, someone could get her potions for the cramping and the headache and the fatigue and the sorrow. Determined to hurry all this misery up, Voldemort prompted her,

" _I pledge myself to you heart, body, and soul. May our life together be long and happy._ "

Narcissa took a very shaky breath, and Voldemort squeezed his hands tightly around the book he was holding as he wished they'd at least given the poor girl an Invigoration Draught. Narcissa's voice was quiet and rushed as she stared at Lucius' face and said,

"I pledge myself to you heart, body, and soul. May our life together be long and happy."

"Thus, with rings and vows exchanged, it is my most sincere and happy privilege to pronounce this witch and this wizard to be married. In the eyes of the Ministry of Magic, of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and of each other, you are henceforth husband and wife. Go on and kiss, then. Congratulations." He shut the ceremonial book and glanced over to Bellatrix as Lucius carefully put his lips to Narcissa's. Everyone in the audience flew to their feet and applauded, though Druella Black and Cerda Malfoy seemed lost between happiness and grief.

After the ceremony and a very stilted first dance, Bellatrix went off with Druella and Cerda to help dose Narcissa up so she could make it through the party. Voldemort went straight for the liquor, thinking that he certainly needed a stiff drink after all that had happened today. He picked up an empty tumbler that immediately filled itself with whisky, and as he stood sipping it near a wall, Abraxas Malfoy came walking up beside Cygnus Black III.

"Gentlemen." Voldemort raised his glass a bit and said, "Congratulations to both families. And… my sympathies, as well."

"It is a day of mixed emotions, to be certain," Cygnus admitted. "I had hoped to see my daughter glowing with happiness today. She is so very in love with Lucius, and…"

"Cygnus, they  _both_  made a mistake, and nature did what nature is wont to do," Abraxas said stiffly. "It's unfortunate, but the important thing is that they're married now. They'll have children."

"A veritable swarm, I'm sure," Voldemort said, cocking up an eyebrow. "Try and make the best of it, both of you. This only happens once. They're giving her potions now. Cygnus, I suppose I should apologise for depriving you of a happy wedding day for your eldest daughter."

Cygnus smiled sadly. "On the contrary, My Lord. I think Bellatrix's wedding day was probably the happiest a bride's ever been. Thank you again for your help with Narcissa."

"And for officiating the ceremony, My Lord," Abraxas added. Voldemort nodded at both of them, and they knew they'd been dismissed. They both bowed deeply and walked away, and Voldemort sipped at his whiskey, savouring its burn.

"P-pardon me. My Lord?"

He looked up to see a pretty-faced witch, tall and thin with green eyes and long brown hair in a knot atop her head. Her green eyes gleamed as she stared up at Voldemort in awe, and suddenly he knew exactly who this was.

"Miss Parkinson." He took a much larger swig of his whiskey then, and Phoebe Parkinson balled her hands excitedly into fists at her sides.

"My Lord, I just wanted to say… erm… to say that you look very… erm… handsome. Today. Well, all the time. But today, particularly."

Voldemort frowned. This was the little witch who had been torturing Bellatrix with her insane letters? She was a madwoman. Or, at least, she was like those young Muggle girls had been with Elvis Presley in the fifties. Obsessed with a human they could never actually know. Voldemort cleared his throat, suddenly irritated by the obscene suggestions that Phoebe Parkinson had made in the letters she'd sent to Archer's Edge.

"Miss Parkinson," he said stiffly, "You probably have not yet heard, but there is a new being enacted."

"Is there?" Phoebe's eyes lit up as though she thought she was receiving some sort of special, confidential information. Voldemort couldn't help but smirk then as he nodded and said,

"Yes. It's illegal now to send any personal mail to the Dark Lord or to The Lady without express permission."

"Oh," Phoebe breathed. She nodded vigorously and took a step closer to Voldemort. He nearly pushed her back physically, but that wouldn't have looked good. Bad optics. Instead he made himself seem as tall as possible so that he could hover over her. It wasn't anything like the way he hovered over Bellatrix, who didn't even reach his shoulder when standing beside him. But if he'd thought the gesture would make Phoebe Parkinson back off, he'd been wrong. She seemed aroused by the way he was staring down at her, and she dared to ask in a whisper, "My Lord, may I please have your…  _express permission_? So that I might write to you?"

"What? No. No, you may not. Miss Parkinson, clearly you don't understand. Your letters are -"

"Hello, Phoebe!"

Voldemort had never been more relieved to see Bellatrix in his entire life. He tried to meet her eyes, but she'd plastered on a completely false grin, and he sent a thought shooting toward her.

_Get this psychotic wench away from me, will you?_

Bellatrix stifled a laugh and nodded minutely. She put her hand on Phoebe's shoulder, an almost aggressive show of familiarity given everyone's respective positions in society. Phoebe Parkinson bowed her head and said nervously,

"My Lady! How good to see you. I don't think we've talked personally since… maybe since Hogwarts. How things have changed."

"Oh, indeed they have," Bellatrix nodded. She stepped up beside Voldemort, and he decided then to break his own rule on public displays of affection. He bent down to touch his lips to Bellatrix's forehead, and he murmured,

"Glad you're back, My Lady. I was getting awfully lonely."

She giggled a little and playfully stole his tumbler of whiskey from his hand. She sipped at it and then winked as she said,

"You'll have to get a new drink, My Lord; this one's mine now."

"Hmm." He dragged his thumb over Bellatrix's lip and stared at her for a moment that would have made most humans squirm with discomfort. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, saying just loudly enough for Phoebe Parkinson to hear, "You taste like whiskey, My Lady. I like it."

He walked away without another word, going over to the table where he'd gotten the first drink. He picked up a new tumbler and watched it fill itself, and when he glanced back to Bellatrix, he could see her nodding and smiling. Phoebe Parkinson dipped into a very low curtsy and walked away, her head held in shame and her fingers wringing together before her. Voldemort strode up to Bellatrix, expecting her to complain about jealousy or to be angry that the other witch had so brazenly walked up to her husband.

"We'll need to be careful of her," Bellatrix said instead. "She's infatuated with you, and now you've crushed her like a beetle beneath your shoe. People become dangerous when they're made to feel like nothing."

Voldemort frowned. "Was I meant to thank her for the letters, Bellatrix?"

"No, of course not, My Lord." Bellatrix finished off the drink in her hand, the one she'd stolen from him, and she said, "And I ought to mention that I certainly appreciate you being assertive in protecting… protecting my feelings about things like this."

He wanted to tell her that it wasn't about her, that he disliked hangers-on, that he found empty-headed witches to be less than useless. Instead he tucked her hair behind her ear and said,

"I'm glad you left your curls down."

She sighed heavily and nodded, but she whispered, "She'll need to be Obliviated or worse. She's not dangerous on her own, but look what happened with Tarquin Avery."

She was right, of course. Tarquin Avery had felt rejected by both Bellatrix and Voldemort, so he'd actively joined a resistance movement. Voldemort swallowed hard and said,

"She'd need to disappear. Nothing public."

"I can take care of that, if you'd like," Bellatrix told him. He turned up half his mouth and nodded.

"We'll work the logistics out later, little thing. In the meantime, come dance with me."

It felt good to have his hands on her, to move with her in steady swaying motions on the dance floor. After a full song's worth of music during which he did nothing but study her face, he looked over to see Narcissa smiling at Lucius.

"Elixir to Induce Euphoria," Bellatrix admitted. "We wanted her to be happy on her wedding day, even if it's not the most genuine happiness."

"You're a good sister," Voldemort noted. When she scoffed, he knew what she was thinking, and he reminded her, "That other one wasn't your sister. Narcissa is, and you're a good sister to her. And you're a good wife to me."

Bellatrix stared up at him, and suddenly he could feel her healing strength pouring from her hand into his, seeping through his tuxedo jacket and flowing through his veins. He blinked quickly a few times, for all of a sudden the lenses in his glasses were making him dizzy. He stopped dancing and pulled off the spectacles, and Bellatrix murmured carefully,

"Something wrong?"

Voldemort looked up, focusing on a tapestry across the room. He smirked as he realised she'd fixed his vision. In fact, if felt like he could see better than ever before. He folded the glasses up and tucked them away, and Bellatrix grinned. She resumed her dancing stance with him and said,

"Promise me you'll wear them with clear lenses sometimes. Just for the look."  
"You like old men in glasses, do you?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix laughed quietly. He nodded and started to dance with her again, and when the song ended, he put his lips beside her ear and asked, "How long until I can take you home and make love to you, little thing?"

"Three hours, probably," Bellatrix admitted. Voldemort growled with frustration, but Bellatrix reminded him, "We've a suite upstairs, you know."

He pulled back, feeling fire go through his veins. "So we do."

He seized her hand and walked quickly toward the doorway that led from the ballroom. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, and he suspected at least a few people had ideas about why the Dark Lord was dragging the grinning Lady from the room. Phoebe Parkinson watched them go, and Voldemort flicked his eyes to her for a second, tightening his grip on Bellatrix's hand. Let the stupid girl feel destroyed, he thought. Bellatrix would dispose of her quickly enough.

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_31 October 1972_

"I want to make her watch," Bellatrix panted.

"What?" Voldemort pulled down the zip on her gown, and she slithered out of it as he shut the bedroom door inside their suite. She stared up at his eyes and said firmly,

"I want to kidnap her, immobilise her, and make her watch us. Make her watch you touch me."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Bellatrix. That's just silly. Besides, I have neither the interest in nor the ability to have sex with you in front of a stranger. Regardless of whether or not she'd be moments away from dying. Just make it quick and simple, Bella, or I'll handle it myself."

"Fine," Bellatrix huffed. She realised then, as Voldemort slid her body up onto the bed, that she never would have spoken to him like that years ago. She used to call him  _Master_ , she thought, but that felt like a hundred years ago now. She used to hang her head and mumble around him, terrified and awed. She still feared him, but they were on far more equal footing now than she would have ever thought possible.

He pushed her back against the pillows where she had rested her head for months. That had been before their townhouse in London, well before the castle in the Lake District. Bellatrix remembered Apparating here from Hogwarts, sneaking out of school for a dalliance with her lord and master.

Things were different now.

Voldemort unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down around his hips, stroking at his cock a little as he stared up at Bellatrix and said seriously,

"We shouldn't be gone for very long, or people will start to get suspicious."

She smirked and asked, "Would it be the worst thing if they thought the Dark Lord's wife was -"

"I don't want my Death Eaters thinking something's gone wrong, Bellatrix," he chided her, but he smiled a little as he pulled her black lace knickers down. He slid them languorously over her hips, moving so carefully that Bellatrix went completely wet between her legs. He slid the knickers over her high heels and balled them up in his hand, and pleasure washed off of him and straight into Bellatrix. He set the knickers down on the mattress, his cock throbbing visibly as he slid his hand up the inside of Bellatrix's thigh. She gasped and arched her back when his fingers reached her; he caressed her with deep but slow movements that drove her mad.

"You do know, don't you, that it isn't just the fact that Phoebe Parkinson is an empty-headed, obsessive twit with the intelligence and maturity of a fruit fly?"

Bellatrix choked out a laugh, her fists tightening on the sheets. She found Voldemort's eyes and shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

He smirked, moving his hand more purposefully on Bellatrix's womanhood. They shared a moment of her arousal, and he groaned a little as her pleasure became his. Finally he said rather breathlessly,

"It wouldn't matter who was writing those letters, Bella. If I weren't married to you, I'd still ignore them. I went more than forty years entirely convinced that witches, and in particular relationships with witches, were a hugely detrimental barrier to my potential. And I still feel that way."

"Then why… why did you marry me?" Bellatrix demanded, feeling everything go tight inside of her. She squealed quietly as he twisted two fingers into her body, and she could hardly pay attention as he insisted,

"Because… Bellatrix Black, you are the only human on this entire planet who has ever meant anything to me. Ever. At all. And that is not going to change. And you mean  _everything_  to me, you understand? Tell me you understand."

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, crying out as she came. He grunted at the feel of her walls clamping around his fingers, and before Bellatrix could recover from her high, his hand had gone from her and had been replaced by his cock. Bellatrix's hands flew up to his face, her thumbs dragging over the sharp lines of his jaws.

"Bella," he whispered, his hips moving quickly and urgently as he stared down at her. He sounded almost frantic then as he filled her over and over. "Bella. You're so fucking beautiful, you know? And intelligent, and funny, and I… I couldn't live with anybody but you and I can't live without you, so…"

"I love you," Bellatrix nodded, snaring her bare legs up around his waist. She drew her knees to her chest, encouraging him to come down for a kiss. He groaned loudly against Bellatrix's mouth, his hips going harder than ever, and she thought again,

_I love you. So much._

"Gahhh! Bella!" Suddenly Voldemort's eyes wrenched shut, and she could feel him pumping his ecstasy into her body. But then it was as though an invisible force field had erupted around him. She could feel his magic crackling like sparks on the surface of his skin. He shoved his hips against hers one last time, and then everything detonated like a bomb.

The windows shattered, the bed frame cracked, the bathroom door fell off its hinges and crashed to the ground, and the wardrobe toppled over. It all happened in a split second, a total obliteration of the bedroom with one burst of magic.

"What… was… that?" Bellatrix whispered, shaking like a leaf as Voldemort pulled himself off of her. He quietly tucked himself into his trousers beside the bed and asked,

"Are you hurt?"

"No. What was that?" Bellatrix asked again. Voldemort cleared his throat and admitted,

"Well, it hasn't happened to me since I was about eleven. You're luckier; you were raised in a Magical household, so you probably learnt not to let… let yourself lose control like that."

"Lose control," Bellatrix repeated incredulously, sitting up and reaching for her knickers. She yanked them back on, not caring that Voldemort's seed was soaking through the crotch of the garment. She pulled on her dress and used her wand to do up the zip, and as Voldemort performed reparative and reconstructive spells, she pointed out, "You are Lord Voldemort. You don't  _lose control_. What happened, My Lord?"

He sighed and tucked his wand away as he put his tuxedo to rights. He straightened his tie and fixed the rumpled blankets as he mumbled, "I hope they didn't hear that downstairs. They probably didn't; the orchestra's loud enough that -"

"What happened?" Bellatrix demanded once more, her voice shrill even to her own ears. Voldemort finally turned to her and shrugged.

"I became… overwhelmed. That's all. It was like the opposite of what happened to you when your Magical Capacity got depleted. Mine, I think… overflowed, if you will."

"Exploded, more like," Bellatrix said. "You became  _overwhelmed_? Overwhelmed by what?"

"By you, of course," Voldemort snapped, as though it were very obvious. When Bellatrix frowned in confusion, he rolled his eyes and sounded a bit embarrassed. "All of sudden, Bella, every little bit of what I've felt for you since the moment I put the Dark Mark on your arm… I could feel all of it. Every tiny shard of affection, every conversation. Every word you wrote to me in the journals. Every time I'd made love to you. Every glint in your eye, every bit of snark you'd playfully thrown my way. Every kiss, every tear, every battle. Everything. All of it, all at once, came hurtling into my mind like a train on fire, and that was it. It just… it detonated."

Bellatrix licked her bottom lip, feeling very thirsty all of a sudden. Perhaps her mother's old storybook had been right, after all, she thought. Perhaps love, combined with Dark Magic, was the most powerful force in the universe. Dark love. Was there such a thing?

"It certainly seems like there's such a thing," Voldemort whispered, and Bellatrix jolted at the way he'd been so thoroughly inside her head. He stepped up to her and took her face carefully in her hands, lowering his lips to hers as he whispered, "I apologise for blowing up the bedroom, Madam Black."

She snorted a little laugh and reminded him, "Don't apologise to me; I don't own the place."

"We should go back downstairs now," he lamented, fixing her hair with his fingers and adjusting her silver tiara on her head. He squared his jaw, met her eyes, and informed her, "You do whatever you want with stupid little Phoebe Parkinson, Bellatrix. She's yours to play with as you see fit. But know full well, Madam, that you are the only person who's ever lived that matters to me. And you matter more than you know."

He took her hand and guided her out of the bedroom before Bellatrix could say anything back to that. She steadied herself, feeling the damp leak of his climax in her knickers, knowing she smelled of sex, and still hearing the blast from his uncontrolled magic in her head. She was dizzy as he led her downstairs, but somehow she managed to tip her chin up imperiously the moment they re-entered the ballroom.

Narcissa was dancing with her new husband, blissful and comfortable thanks to all the potions they'd given her. Bellatrix's parents were dancing, too. Everyone in the room seemed sated with food and drink. In a distant corner, Phoebe Parkinson stood with a group of young witches, and all of them turned to curtsy when the Dark Lord and the Lady entered the room. Bellatrix smirked in Phoebe's direction, a thousand vicious ideas coming into her head all at once.

"So many options," Voldemort whispered, and when she raised her eyes to him, he said in a sly tone, "However will you decide exactly what you want to do with her, little thing? Hmm? Come dance with me."

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_4 November 1973_

"I'm going." Bellatrix drummed her fingers on the threshold of Voldemort's office, and he glanced up from the copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ he'd been reading. She could tell he was considering asking her for more detail, that he was thinking about all the awful things Bellatrix was capable of doing. So she was rather surprised when he said quietly,

"There's something in my mind that I want you to see before you go. A memory."

Bellatrix frowned, but before she could say anything, her mind was flooded with a vivid scene. She shut her eyes and soaked it in, her heart racing as she realised she was seeing the past through Voldemort's mind.

" _Thank you again for the invitation, Mr Black," Voldemort said to Cygnus Black III. "I'm grateful you and your family were willing to hear me out."_

" _Well, I can only speak for Druella and myself, but you have our support. We are very encouraged by your vision for wizarding Britain. We are with you all the way."_

_Voldemort smiled and was about to say something else when a young child's angry cry sounded. He and Cygnus Black both turned their attention across the gardens in front of the Rosier house._

" _Bellatrix Black!" screamed Druella. "You may not push poor little Narcissa over like that! How cruel and awful of you!"_

" _She wouldn't leave me alone!" Bellatrix protested, angrily crossing her arms over her chest. Her head exploded with a violent cascade of wild black curls, and her face was hard and cold for such a small creature. Druella scowled at her daughter, scooping the tiny blonde one called Narcissa up in her arms and comforting her as she walked away._

" _Your eldest one," Voldemort said, jerking his chin to the girl with the black curls halfway down her back, "She's got fire inside her, hasn't she?"_

_Cygnus Black sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He was only in his mid-twenties, but he looked much older as he studied his daughter._

" _Bellatrix is… a challenge," he conceded. "She's always been something of a troublemaker."_

" _The game changers in this world are all troublemakers, Cygnus," Voldemort smirked._

Bellatrix opened her eyes to see that Voldemort was hovering above her, his fingers carefully tucking her hair behind her ear as he nodded down to her.

"Go on, then, little thing," he whispered. "Go make some trouble."

* * *

_Isle of Man_

_4 November 1973_

Bellatrix landed gracefully on the rocky beach, but Phoebe Parkinson came out of the forced Side-Along Apparition with a forceful thud. She fell hard onto her knees, and when she stared up at Bellatrix through the frigid rain, she asked,

"My Lady, where are we? Why have you brought me here? Please, may I have my wand back?"

Did you really think, Phoebe, that he would ever actually want you?" Bellatrix sneered, stalking around the kneeling witch before her. "You sent him those letters as though he were going to bring you into his bed in gratitude. You! A worthless little worm. You can't begin to comprehend what he wants, or what he needs, or what he deserves."

"You're right. You're very right, My Lady," Phoebe Parkinson nodded. "I was wrong. Forgive me. Please." Little trickles of blood streamed from her knees where they'd hit the rocks. She was still in her nightgown, for Bellatrix had Apparated straight into the girl's bedroom and snatched her away like a wraith. She had Phoebe's wand tucked into her jacket, and now Bellatrix aimed her own wand at Phoebe and murmured,

" _Incarcerous_."

Thick ropes shot out from Bellatrix's wand and quickly snared about Phoebe's body. The other witch screamed in terror, lying on her side like a beached whale on the beach. She wriggled in the ropes and cried,

"Please, My Lady! Madam Black! Bellatrix! Please, please forgive me and I shall never contact either of you again."

"No, you won't." Bellatrix moved quickly to arrange some of the heavier rocks on the beach around Phoebe with her wand. With a few more incantations, the ropes had bound the little boulders to Phoebe, and Bellatrix tipped her head as she said, "Do you know the best part about unassisted flight, Phoebe? It doesn't matter how much your cargo weighs."

"What?" Phoebe asked in disbelief. By way of answer, Bellatrix seized a fistful of rope in her hand and kicked off the rocky beach with all of her might. She soared upward, and Phoebe Parkinson shrieked in unmitigated terror as she was dragged upward. Higher and higher Bellatrix flew, up through the rain as she remembered the first day Voldemort had worked with her on flying.

"Please!" Phoebe was sobbing, but all Bellatrix could focus on was the feel of the wind and the raindrops lashing her face. It was delightful. Finally she reached a point so high that the air was almost unbearably cold and the wind was ferocious.

"All right, Phoebe," Bellatrix yelled, looking down at the bound-up witch. Below her was the vast, churning sea, grey from the rain and angry in how it moved. Bellatrix met Phoebe's terrified eyes and told her, "If, by some freak of statistics, you aren't dead the moment your body hits the surface of the water… be sure and breathe in just as quickly as you can. It'll make it all go faster."

"Bellatrix… please…" Phoebe shook her head, the only part of her she could move with the bindings, but Bellatrix smirked and released her fistful of ropes. Phoebe let out a continuous scream of terror as she fell. It seemed to take forever, even with the heavy stones as weights. Phoebe looked like a strange sort of mummy all bound up, and her body tumbled end over end as it hurtled toward the sea. Finally there was a visible splash, but Bellatrix was too high up to hear the impact. She soared downward, watching as Phoebe's body quickly disappeared. She'd been pulled down by the weights, probably killed by the impact. In any case, she was gone forever. She'd been devoured by the sea, and no one would ever know what had happened to her.

No one except for Bellatrix Black and Lord Voldemort.

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_4 November 1973_

Voldemort was waiting in the library for Bellatrix, and when she appeared in the threshold looking windblown and soaked by rain, he cocked up an eyebrow.

"So?" he said, setting down his book and standing from his chair, "How did it…  _oof._ "

He was taken aback by how forcefully Bellatrix snatched his face and brought herself up onto her toes to kiss him. She smelled like the ocean, he thought at once. Like saltwater and the wind that only whips rocky shores. He pushed into her mind with Legilimency and she let him straight in. Then he could see her, soaring high above the sea, releasing a screaming Phoebe Parkinson and watching the girl's weighted, bound body fall and crash into the water.

"Vicious little thing," Voldemort growled against her mouth, feeling very abruptly aroused by her. Bellatrix pulled back and blinked a few times.

"I thought I'd feel better," she admitted, and Voldemort frowned. Bellatrix shrugged and pointed out, "She was just one of so many. They'll always want you."

"And I'll always want you. Only you," Voldemort said sternly. He pushed her wet curls away from her face and whispered, "It's only ever been you. Go take a hot shower."

She nodded, hesitating before she said sincerely, "Thank you, My Lord. For giving me her fate."

He turned up half his mouth and nodded. "My pleasure, little thing."

Bellatrix started to go from the library, but she paused in the doorway and turned round, drumming her fingers on the threshold.

"Have you made up your mind about Russia?" she asked, and Voldemort sighed. He'd received an official owl the day before inviting him to Moscow for a state visit with their Minister of Magic. Russian wizardry operated entirely removed from their Soviet Muggle counterparts, and the Russians were more than slightly sympathetic to Voldemort's aims. Where the Americans had proven weak and fractured, Russian wizardry seemed united and strong in sharing Voldemort's mission.

"As unappealing as Moscow in December sounds," Voldemort said, "I think it would be wise to go. We'll need to bring a small delegation, given the state of things. Who do you recommend?"

Bellatrix pursed her lips and thought for a moment. Finally she said, "Antonin Dolohov, obviously, since he's from St Petersburg and is a native speaker of the language. Lucius Malfoy, since Abraxas will need to stay here and hold down the fort. Rodolphus Lestrange, since he's now the head of International Magical Cooperation. And then you and me. Five seems like a good number."

Voldemort smiled a little and admitted, "Those were my exact choices. I'll get owls to them at once; we'll hold a meeting tomorrow to make our plans."

"Shall I write back to the Russian Ministry to accept the invitation on your behalf, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and when he nodded, she bit her lip and then asked carefully, "You're certain you're up for a journey like that?"

"I'm quite well these days, thanks to you," Voldemort said. "You'll need to get someone from Twillfit and Tattings to come by; you need formal but professional attire. And lots of warm gear; it'll be colder than you can imagine. But all of that can wait, little thing. Go take that hot shower, eh?"

Bellatrix nodded, shivering a little where she stood with her hair falling in wet tendrils. She looked Voldemort straight in the eye, suddenly looking hard as steel and cold as ice. She'd never been more beautiful, Voldemort thought, his chest pulling a little. His beautiful warrior, his efficient killer, his sharp thinker, his companion and compatriot. His perfect wife. The only one who had ever mattered.

"I love you," Bellatrix said simply, and before he could answer, she'd turned to go.

* * *

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_6 November 1973_

" _Давайте выпьем за успех нашего дела!_ My friends, if you can't keep up, the Russians will see you as weak, as prey! Drink up!" Antonin Dolohov smirked, his eyes gleaming as his knocked back yet another shot of vodka. Voldemort abstained from drinking his; he'd had two already, which felt like more than enough. He watched as Bellatrix knocked her fifth one back, her face twisting as she slammed the shot glass down on the low table before her. She giggled like mad and complained,

"Now, this is wholly unfair, because I guarantee I weigh half what the rest of you do."

"Perhaps the Russians will have mercy on you, My Lady," Rodolphus Lestrange said, holding his empty shot glass in his one remaining hand.

"Don't count on it!" bellowed Dolohov, and then everyone in the room except for Voldemort broke into wild laughter. Voldemort studied his little entourage. They'd already nailed down specifics - they would take a Portkey to Paris, then a two-day train from Paris to Moscow. They would be received at the Krepost, the fortress-like headquarters for the Russian Ministry of Magic outside Moscow's city centre. They'd discussed everyone's respective roles, as well as how to handle any unpredictability. And then they'd started drinking.

Rodolphus Lestrange could have had a good-quality prosthetic hand. Voldemort had offered several times. But Lestrange had wisely agreed with his master that the stump of his left arm served as a proud reminder of the day his brother had fallen. It was, in a sense, a badge of honour. Besides, he'd assured Voldemort, he could handle his wand one-handed, and that was all that mattered.

Lucius Malfoy was fresh off his wedding, but he seemed confident that leaving his new bride for a few weeks was the right thing to do. She'd be going to stay with her parents in London during Lucius' absence. Antonin Dolohov had no one to tie him down, as far as Voldemort knew. Right now, he had five shots of vodka in his belly, and was pouring a sixth round for everyone except Voldemort, who still held a full shot glass.

"All right. Let me try," Bellatrix said playfully, eliciting happy smiles from the other wizards in the room. She held her little glass aloft and cried out, "Za… fstrye-tchoo! Have I butchered it, Dolohov?"

"It was perfectly pronounced, My Lady!" Dolohov lied. The others tipped their shot glasses back one more time, and Voldemort finally cleared his throat and got Bellatrix's attention through the mental link.

 _Enough,_  he scolded her through their thoughts.  _Meet me out in the corridor._

Bellatrix's face fell, but she gathered herself enough to say in a sloppy drawl, "Well, gentlemen, that is… more than enough for me, I'm afraid. Goodnight, all."

She started to stumble toward the door, and Voldemort quickly rose to help guide her. The other wizards, all utterly sloshed, rose to their feet and bowed their heads and Voldemort and Bellatrix left the parlous. Voldemort kept his arm snared tightly around Bellatrix's waist and said over his shoulder,

"I'll be back in a moment."

Once they were out in the corridor, she giggled and stared up at him with glassy eyes. She shook her head and shrugged. "Sorry. I don't usually… you know, they just kept going, so…"

"If you Apparate right now, you're liable to Splinch yourself," Voldemort said tightly. "Go up to our suite and wait there; we'll spend the night here."

"You're angry with me," Bellatrix breathed, her mind swimming dully through the link. Voldemort shook his head and told her,

"I'm not angry, per se. Worried, more like. You're a hundred pounds soaking wet; you drink that much vodka at once and you'll wind up face down on the shower floor. So… you know, don't take a shower. Just get yourself into pyjamas if you can, and I'll be up in a few minutes."

"All right. I'm sorry. My Lord." Bellatrix pushed her curls from her face, and Voldemort could tell that the last few shots were hitting her hard now. She started to stumble down the corridor, and Voldemort rolled his eyes as he called after her,

"Bella, you'll be wanting to go the other way, I think."

"Oh. You're right. Yes." Bellatrix changed direction, and Voldemort realised he couldn't leave her alone right now.

"Wait here," he commanded her, and he hurried back into the parlour where the other wizards were laughing about some conversational topic or another. They all rose again, all of them swaying a bit. Voldemort nodded crisply and said,

"I'm glad we got everything worked out for the visit, gentlemen. Now, all of you do me a favour and see to it that The Lady never winds up quite this drunk again, eh? Goodnight."

"Goodnight, My Lord," they all mumbled. Voldemort shut the door behind him and huffed with frustration when he saw that Bellatrix had wandered down the corridor again. She was mumbling something to a portrait, and when Voldemort reached her side, the painted 19th century witch scolded him,

"How shameful, to leave a little girl like this standing alone in the corridor when she's clearly been poisoned."

"She hasn't been poisoned, and she's not a little girl," Voldemort said sharply, though he could see why the portrait might think both of those things. He took Bellatrix's hand and guided her away, somehow managing to help her up an entire winding flight of stairs. When they reached their suite, he helped her inside and suggested,

"Let me go get you some Nec Mora Arida Potion."

"Can't I just sleep it off?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort sighed and snapped,

"Bellatrix, it's entirely inappropriate for you to get sloppy in front of my Death Eaters like that."

"Sorry," she mumbled again, picking at her skirt. Voldemort squared his jaw, feeling abruptly irritated as he continued,

"You're not to ever behave like that again, you understand me?"

She snorted a bitter laugh and nodded. She raised her eyes to him and said snidely, "Yes, Father. I understand."

Voldemort felt his eyes go round, and he snatched at Bellatrix's wrist and dragged her into the bedroom. He started to wrench her clothes off of her - her flowing blouse and her leather bustier, her black peasant skirt - and he snarled,

"Don't you ever say anything like that to me again."

"Now you  _really_  sound like my father," Bellatrix complained. Voldemort had a sudden urge to slap her, just to try and snap her out of this ridiculous state of mind. Instead he stared at her in her bra and knickers, and he informed her through clenched teeth,

"I'm not your father, Bellatrix; I am your husband and I am your lord. Your master. Or have you forgotten?"

"Nope. Hmm-mm," she drawled. "Haven't forgotten. Don't worry; you're very scary."

She sounded completely sarcastic, and Voldemort found himself so overcome with rage that he nearly shattered the same windows he had a few days earlier. He trembled where he stood and whispered,

"Get down on your knees, Bellatrix, and beg to forgive your disrespect."

"I thought we were past that," she slurred, but she sank down just the same. Her knees hit the floor hard, and she made a little  _oof_  of discomfort. She raised her eyes up to Voldemort, suddenly looking not a single day over seventeen. She was frozen in time, he knew, but right now it jarred him that she didn't look anywhere near twenty-two. He gulped as she said half-heartedly, "Please, My Lord and… most… benevolent master. Please forgive me for drinking vodka. So much vodka. Also, please forgive me… for calling you my father, because as we both know… he's seven years younger than you."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and his eyes stung unexpectedly. She'd never been like this, not even on other occasions where she'd overindulged with liquor. He held his right hand out and barked,

" _Accio_ Nec Mora Arida Potion."

The potions stores in the sitting-room flew open, and a little glass bottle soared into Voldemort's hand. He pulled out the stopper and tossed it aside, gripping Bellatrix's jaw tightly in his hand. She stared up at him with defiant, glassy eyes, and he commanded her,

"Open your mouth and drink this. Now."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, parting her lips as he touched the bottle to her mouth. He poured the contents over her lip, and she somehow managed to look seductive as she swallowed it and dragged her thumb over her bottom lip.

"Get into the bed and do not move," Voldemort snapped. He threw the empty bottle of potion down onto the floor and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and tearing off his own clothes. He tossed his robes and boots onto the ground, and his fingers froze as he stared down at the tie bar Bellatrix had given him nearly five years earlier. He pulled it off his tie, stared at the serpent head, and set it down on the ledge above the sink. He pulled off his shirt and tie, his trousers and his underwear, and he flicked his wand to fold the clothes into a neat stack on the floor beneath the sink.

He turned the taps in the shower all the way to hot and stepped inside. He stood under the stream for a very long time, deciding that he wasn't going to go back out into the bedroom until the potion had sobered Bellatrix up. He scrubbed at his skin three times with a bar of soap. He washed his still-bald head twice and raked his soapy fingers around his face. Then he just stood there, staring at the tile wall and wondering if Bellatrix really thought of him the way she'd said she did tonight.

When they'd first become lovers, he'd certainly had a tighter hold over her. He'd commanded her with ease; she'd been nothing if not submissive. And obviously he'd been twenty-five years her senior then, too. But did she really think of him as a father figure? The idea made him shudder.

No, he thought. She'd been his servant, and she still was, but she'd just grown more comfortable. Tonight she was just bitter about him treating her like a child. That was all. She knew who he was. Who she was. What they were.

Voldemort finally turned the taps off and stepped out of the shower, drying himself with a thick white towel and wrapping it around his waist. He scooped up the pile of his folded clothing and stepped out of the bathroom.

Bellatrix was lying on her side in the bed, and as soon as she sat up, he could see that she had tears quietly streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, My Lord," she whispered. "I've no idea what compelled me to speak to you like that."

"Vodka." Voldemort moved quickly to the wardrobe and opened it, shoving his clothes inside and yanking out a pair of black flannel pyjama trousers. He turned his face back to Bellatrix and nodded. "Vodka made you talk like that. Let me inside your head.  _Legilimens._ "

She tore down the Occlumency defences that were instinct for her now, and he could feel nothing but genuine remorse from her. No. She did not think of him like a father. The thought repulsed her; the notion that she'd said such a thing repulsed her. He was her husband, her lover, her master, her partner, her companion, her lord.

Voldemort pulled back out of her head and sighed, pulling himself beneath the blankets as he informed her,

"There will undoubtedly be strong pressure to drink with the Russians. It's a cultural trait. There's a potion - easy enough to brew - that keeps liquor from intoxicating the drinker. I'll be sure to bring enough for us both."

"Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix rolled to face him, and he could feel her eyes studying his profile as she murmured, "I don't deserve you. I mean that."

"Don't," Voldemort whispered, shaking his head. "Let's be done with it. Get some sleep."

She hesitated, and he could tell that she wanted to curl herself up against him. But she finally rolled away from him, apparently unsure of whether or not he wanted contact from her just now. Voldemort spooned his body behind hers, wrapping his left arm over her body and lacing his fingers through hers. He kissed the skin beneath her ear and dragged his thumb over her engagement ring.

"Do you forgive me?" she whispered, and Voldemort kissed her neck carefully as he assured her,

"I've already forgotten it, little thing. Goodnight."

Bellatrix squeezed his hand. "Goodnight, My Lord."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor_

_14 November 1973_

"I'll keep him out of trouble. I promise, Cissy." Bellatrix sipped at her tea and raised an eyebrow at her sister, who looked more than a little glum where she sat in the suite she shared with Lucius. Bellatrix set her teacup down and reminded Narcissa, "It's only for a few weeks."

"He'll be gone for the window," Narcissa grumbled, and when Bellatrix frowned, Narcissa sighed, "The time of the month when I'd be able to become pregnant. It'll be just after Christmas, and he'll be gone."

"You're more concerned about that than you are with him missing Christmas," Bellatrix noted, and Narcissa's face twisted a little.

"You just don't understand, Bella. You don't know what it feels like to so desperately want a baby and have the chance ripped away from you."

Suddenly Bellatrix had to resist the urge to touch at her lower abdomen, at the vacuous place where her womb had once been. She gulped and reminded Narcissa,

"You'll have all sorts of chances. There will be many months. Lucius is needed on this visit to Moscow, Cissy; I'll hear no more complaining about it."

Narcissa's pale eyes went a little hard, but she nodded and whispered, "As you command, My Lady."

"I'll see myself out," Bellatrix said briskly, rising from her chair and starting toward the door.

"Don't be like that," Narcissa complained from behind her. When Bellatrix turned around, Narcissa dragged her fingers over one of her pigtail braids and studied her elder sister's face for a long moment. She hesitated, but then she finally asked softly, "Do you intend on becoming a mother someday, Bella?"

Bellatrix considered snapping at her sister that it was precisely none of her business, that it was entirely unacceptable to inquire about such a thing, a thing that referenced the sex life of the Dark Lord. But instead she shrugged and said simply,

"You said it yourself, Narcissa. I just don't understand what it feels like to have the chance taken away."

Narcissa's face darkened, and Bellatrix knew she'd said too much. She leaned up to plant a soft kiss on her sister's pale cheek, and she said again,

"Don't you worry about Lucius in Moscow. The Dark Lord and I will keep him neatly in line. And, anyway, the trip is still a month away."

Narcissa nodded. "Thanks for visiting, Bella. It's always good to see you."

"And you," Bellatrix said, Disapparating from where she stood.

When she came to at Archer's Edge, she walked quickly through the corridors until she reached the tower with the offices downstairs. The sun had long since set, so when she marched unannounced into Voldemort's office, she asked immediately,

"Have you eaten dinner, or shall I have the House-Elves make something for you?"

Voldemort looked up from the paper he was reading, surprised by Bellatrix's brusque entrance. He tipped his head and told her,

"I ate an hour ago. Why? Are you hungry?"

"No. Tired," Bellatrix said. She shut her eyes, thinking of the terrible moment in which she'd felt her womb dissolve into oblivion at the behest of her husband's wand.

"What's set you off thinking about that?" Voldemort demanded, and Bellatrix shook her head firmly as she opened her eyes.

"Narcissa," she said. "She's upset because Lucius will be in Russia on the days when it would be convenient for him to try and impregnate her."

Voldemort's face twisted into a disgusted scowl, and he made a little noise of distaste. He sighed and held up an oddly modern-looking envelope.

"Train tickets came," he informed her, obviously anxious to change the subject of conversation. He pulled out a little card from the envelope and confirmed, "One four-berth cabin and one two-berth cabin. I've already told the others that they're to stay far away from us on the train. No interaction."

"To avoid suspicion?" Bellatrix asked with a frown, stepping further into the office. Voldemort nodded and said,

"I'm unwilling to grant them even a modicum of familiarity to save face, but of course I can't have them fawning about with muttered  _My Lord_ s. So I'll give them their tickets in advance, and we'll all meet up in Moscow."

"What if we pass them in the corridor?" Bellatrix demanded, and Voldemort flicked up an eyebrow.

"Then we'll pretend we've never met," he said simply. "You received the information packet from Minister Sokolov's assistant?"

"Yes," Bellatrix confirmed. "He'll have three fine rooms and an executive suite waiting for us. Your first meeting with him is on the day we arrive. One on one."

"Hmm. I don't like that; I'd prefer if you were there," Voldemort said, but Bellatrix considered aloud,

"By reputation, Minister Sokolov is far more inclined to view witches as playthings than as diplomats. I think it best that you meet alone with him first, My Lord."

"Very well," Voldemort shrugged. He rose from his desk and stalked over to where Bellatrix stood. "His loss."

She smirked at that, and she continued, "The second day, Rodolphus will be meeting with their Department of International Cooperation. Lucius will be given a tour of their various departmental offices. Dolohov's greeting a contingent of ordinary Russian witches and wizards. And you and I have a dual meeting with Sokolov and his wife."

"That one will be for their newspaper, I imagine," Voldemort said sharply, and Bellatrix nodded.

"We can ask for copies of photographs and transcripts to pass along to the  _Prophet_. The next few days are similar; lots of small meetings for show. A few days of guided sightseeing in the middle. Then the last two days are a summit between our entire delegation and Sokolov's upper echelon to discuss the merits and techniques of separating the Muggle and wizarding worlds."

She knew what he was thinking. They'd had a meeting like that before, in America. It hadn't ended well. But while Anatoly Sokolov was known as a despotic womaniser with unquenchable blood lust, he was also well-documented for supporting complete purity in his wizarding community. He would be a strong, if unsavoury, ally. Voldemort nodded, seeming to understand that as he dragged his fingers over his head. Suddenly he asked Bellatrix,

"Do you think I should grow out a beard? For the… for Russia?"

Bellatrix couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "You mean, so you look more intimidating? No. I don't think so. Anatoly Sokolov is bald with a cropped beard; they say he emulates the look of the Muggle Communist Vladimir Lenin. You certainly don't want people thinking you emulate Sokolov, hmm?"

"Fair point," Voldemort said. He pursed his lips, seeming to contemplate what the opposite of Sokolov's look was. He gulped visibly and asked, "Do you suppose it would look terrible if my hair… if I let it keep growing? Even with the hairline?"

Bellatrix glanced up to the buzzed-short hair that was finally growing back. True, his hairline had receded significantly since she'd first met him, but she shrugged and said,

"You're almost forty-seven years old, My Lord. I don't think anyone faults a forty-seven-year-old man for his hairline."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Sokolov is bound to notice how young you look."

"I'm twenty-two," Bellatrix said firmly. "You can inform him of that fact. And if he says that I look young, then you run your fingers over your hair like you always do. Then Sokolov, who is, I believe, fifty-three, can sit there and be jealous. His wife's four years older than he is."

"And I'm sure he's dutifully faithful to her," Voldemort scoffed. "That man's rumoured to have bedded every witch of age in Russia."

"That would be a ridiculous feat, even if it were true, which is obviously isn't," Bellatrix said. "In any case… it's difficult to predict what's going to happen. Why don't we just plan on having our game faces on, hmm?"

Voldemort bent to kiss her, his lips touching gently against hers as he informed her,

"I don't care what Sokolov thinks of witches; you're my most trusted diplomat, and you'll be in that first meeting with me."

Bellatrix didn't want to argue with him. They could sort it out in Moscow, she reckoned. So she put her hand to his cheek and nodded.

"I'll be wherever you want me to be," she said. "Forever."

* * *

_French Railways_

_Outside Minsk_

_15 December 1973_

"You know, most people say that the swaying of a train lulls them to sleep," Voldemort said in a weary voice.

Bellatrix sighed as she tried to stop thrashing about on the top bunk. She pulled the thin blankets more tightly around her body and murmured down to him,

"I'm sorry, My Lord. I'm just anxious, since we'll be getting into Moscow by mid-morning."

"You'll feel worse if you don't sleep. I'll also feel worse if you don't sleep," he complained. Bellatrix gripped the metal rail beside her bunk and heaved herself down until her head was dangling over the edge. Her braid flopped upside down, and she shot Voldemort a curious look where he lay.

"Can I come sleep with you?" she asked, and he snorted a little laugh.

"This berth isn't big enough for me by myself, much less for both of us," he informed her. "Get back up on your bed before you fall down and hurt yourself. I'll help you sleep."

Bellatrix tried to heave herself back up and quickly realised she'd flung herself so far over that she was rather stuck. Voldemort laughed quietly and dragged his hand through the air, wandlessly sending Bellatrix back up onto her own berth.

"Get comfortable," he commanded her.

"I shall try," Bellatrix replied. She lay on her back, the blankets neatly up around her, and she stared at the ceiling. She listened to the rhythmic drumming of the train as it churned onward to Russia. Then, all of a sudden, she felt a searing pleasure on her left arm, and she realised Voldemort was caressing his Dark Mark. Bellatrix moaned quietly, for the rush of arousal was almost instantaneous. On instinct, her right hand flew beneath the blankets and into her knickers. She went wet beneath her own fingers almost at once, and she pulsed her hand as the feeling of Voldemort's work took her over.

"Hush, little thing," she heard him say in a choked voice. Bellatrix hadn't heard the way her voice had grown louder as her hand sped up. She wrenched her eyes shut and arched her back against her hand, the white-hot bliss sending her hurtling off an invisible cliff. She clenched around her own fingers, feeling more than hearing the wisp of Voldemort's thoughts.

_I love you, Bellatrix._

She gasped as her climax joined with the one he was experiencing on the berth beneath her. He grunted quietly, his own pleasure more like a quick burst than her own solid glow. Once they'd both calmed down a little, she heard him mutter a few spells to clean himself up. Bellatrix pulled her hand from her knickers and wiped it shamelessly on the cheap, scratchy sheets.

"Thank you, My Lord," she whispered, knowing he could hear her.

"Better?" he asked, and though she did feel drowsy, she found herself inquiring gently,

"Will you sing to me?"

He was silent for a moment. He was often sheepish about singing. He only ever did it because he knew she enjoyed it, because he knew it had brought her comfort during some of her darkest times. She didn't actually recognise the song he began to sing, but she didn't care. The lyrics melded into the sound of the train. His voice was like honey in the air. And one word at a time, she began to fall asleep to the sound of her husband singing.

" _Oh, me true love, she was beautiful. Me true love, she was young. Her eyes were like the diamonds bright and she shined up in the Sun. And she shined up in the Sun, me lads, as the big ship sailed away. And she said will you remember me ten thousand miles away?"_

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

_The Krepost, Moscow_

_15 December 1973_

" _Добро пожаловать, друзья!_ My friends. Welcome to Russia."

Anatoly Sokolov held his arms out in greeting as the British delegation was escorted into the large reception chamber at the Krepost. It was a gaudy Baroque space, adorned with gilded carvings and salmon-coloured draperies. But it was palatial, if nothing else, and certainly impressive. Lord Voldemort bowed his head a little in greeting as he stepped up to Sokolov. The Russian minister was just a bit shorter than Voldemort, but built far more solidly. He wore an odd sort of uniform that vaguely resembled a Muggle military getup. He had a heavy, dark blue cape cascading from one shoulder, and his greying beard had been cropped to a point beneath his chin.

"Minister Sokolov," Voldemort acknowledged. "Thank you for hosting us."

"It is my pleasure and honour to receive the Dark Lord himself," Sokolov smirked. He turned his eyes to Bellatrix, who had come in an elegant black gown of raw silk, and his eyes flashed a little. "This must be The Lady herself. I am enchanted, Madam, to be in your presence."

He surprised Voldemort - and Bellatrix, he could tell - by taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. Bellatrix pulled her hand away as quickly as she could and said warmly,

"Minister. I must say, the Krepost is by far the most impressive Magical headquarters on Earth. How lucky we are to be able to stay here and visit with our Russian counterparts within these walls."

Anatoly Sokolov let out a boisterous laugh then, pointing straight at Bellatrix as he guffawed to Voldemort,

"You have her trained to talk like a real diplomat. Ah. She's adorable. Come, everyone! Come, come."

He led the delegation from the reception room without waiting to be introduced to Dolohov, Lucius Malfoy, or Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort felt odd all of a sudden, and he realised he was feeling Bellatrix's indignation. But she kept her face steely, her high-heeled boots clacking on the marble floors as she followed Anatoly Sokolov.

The delegation were taken to their apartments - an elaborate suite for Voldemort and Bellatrix, and comfortable, large rooms with private baths for the other three. Their luggage was deposited in the rooms, and then Sokolov clapped his hand hard onto Voldemort's shoulder and suggested,

"Let your friends explore this magnificent palace, hmm? You and I should get better acquainted, I think."

"Of course," Voldemort nodded. He hesitated for a half second, about to suggest that Bellatrix come with them, but she practically screamed into his mind to go alone. So he cleared his throat, reached for Bellatrix's hand, and said gently, "Enjoy yourself, My Lady. Always fun to explore new places, isn't it?"

"Quite so, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She gave Sokolov a beautiful but entirely fabricated smile and said, "Wonderful to meet you, Minister Sokolov."

Once again, Voldemort found himself following another wizard down a corridor, and he found he did not care for the sensation at all. Once he and Sokolov had turned a few corners and were ensconced by mirrors and chandeliers, the Russian minister said slyly,

"She's a feisty one, your wife."

Voldemort tried not to snarl as he said, "She is my most talented diplomat and my most skilled soldier. I find her presence to be invaluable."

"Forgive me, but… I had thought you'd been married for some years now," Sokolov said as he walked. When Voldemort frowned at him, he specified, "She looks so young; little more than a child! But I had thought you'd married her years ago."

"She has a young face," Voldemort said simply. He cleared his throat as he followed Sokolov into a large office lined with dark wood, and he sat in the chair opposite Sokolov's. He kept his back straight and noted, "It's frigid outside."

"Even colder than average, unfortunately," Sokolov lamented. "You know, these idiot Soviet Muggles, they let their people starve. Freeze. Russia is an unforgiving land, even for those of us gifted with magic. For those without, it is a land of pain and suffering. And vodka. They use it drown out the reality of their misery."

"It is not difficult to see why you prioritise segregation from the Muggle world," Voldemort nodded, and Sokolov waved his hand dismissively,

"Lord Voldemort! We have days and days to talk policy. Tonight, you celebrate getting the fuck off of a train, eh? You must relax and enjoy yourself. I can't have you thinking my country consists only of… frigidity."

Voldemort huffed a bitter little laugh. "What did you have in mind, Minister?"

Sokolov got a playful look in his eye and rose from his chair. "Just this way, Lord Voldemort."

Voldemort felt uneasy as he followed Sokolove through a narrow doorway that blended seamlessly into the wooden walls of the office. He put his hand beneath his outer robe and closed his fingers around his wand, just in case. When he and Sokolov made their way through the doorway, they emerged into a shadowy sitting-room illuminated only by candles in brass holders. There was rock music, rather aggressive in nature, playing from a wireless, and Voldemort frowned when he saw that at least ten shots of vodka had been poured out and placed on a tray between two wide chairs.

"And what purpose does this room serve?" Voldemort asked lightly. Sokolov let out a low, almost menacing laugh, and he barked,

"Masha! Larisa!"

Yet another door, this one at the very edge of the room, opened, and two barely-clothed witches came walking silently into the room. One was a tall, willowy woman who looked like she was in her late twenties. She had blonde hair yanked tightly into a ponytail atop her head, and she wore a black leather bustier with tiny knickers and nothing else. The other witch seemed younger, with tight auburn curls and a freckled face. She'd been put into a green silk chemise, and she looked acutely uncomfortable.

Suddenly Voldemort understood, and he felt sick. Sokolov had a reputation for being a womaniser, but this wasn't exactly the welcome party Voldemort had expected, even from him. He cracked his own mind wide open, searching for Bellatrix in the ether as he thought directly at her,

_Right. Could use your advice just now._

He tried to let her see what was happening as he sank hesitantly into one of the chairs. He tried to show Bellatrix everything as he and Sokolov toasted one another and knocked back three shots in a row of vodka.

_If you reject what he's put together here, you'll insult him beyond repair. This is who he is, My Lord. Play along._

Voldemort's breath shook with discomfort. He wanted to scream at Bellatrix that this was nonsense, that he was the Dark Lord and would not be subjected to this sort of humiliation. But he tried to keep her words in mind, for she was almost always right in difficult situations.  _Play along_.

"So. You can have your pick, Lord Voldemort," Sokolov was saying. "Larisa here is just getting started. She's like a horse that needs to be broken, hm?"

The red-haired witch lowered her gaze, but she looked up with wide eyes when Sokolov barked something at her in Russian. The other witch, the older one, looked more confident and less afraid, so Voldemort said with a pit in his stomach,

"I think I'll take Masha."

"Good choice," Sokolov laughed. He aimed his wand across the room and made the music louder, and then he said something else in Russian, and the witches approached the chairs.

Voldemort struggled to look in control of himself as the blonde witch, Masha, began to dance in front of him. He loathed this. He'd always loathed things like this. For forty-two years of his life, he'd gone without sex, because things like this were dirty and beneath him. Now he found himself gripping the arms of the leather chair and trying not to stare at the wall as Masha danced. He flicked his eyes up and down her form, noting that she was pretty enough, but that her gaze seemed rather empty. He gulped hard and finally tore his eyes away, unable to keep looking at her.

Masha stalked closer to the chair and made herself quite at home, settling onto Voldemort's lap in a way that only Bellatrix had ever done. He glared at her a little, and Masha hesitated. Then Voldemort felt Bellatrix's voice in his mind say firmly,

_Touch her. You have to touch her. He's watching you._

Voldemort sighed, his fingers trembling wildly as he brought them to Masha's narrow waist. She took that as a sign that he wanted more, and she began to grind herself down against his lap. Her brows furrowed for a half second, and Voldemort knew why. It was because he was soft, because he wasn't aroused by any of this in the slightest. But the last thing he needed was a whore tattling to Anatoly Sokolov that Lord Voldemort was impotent. He shut his eyes and thought of Bellatrix, but that only made everything worse.

 _Help me, Bella. Please_. He knew he would sound desperate to her, that his voice would crackle even through their mental link. Almost immediately, he felt a powerful searing bliss radiating from his Dark Mark. He swallowed hard, pondering the fact that Bellatrix was sitting alone in their suite, caressing her Mark so that her husband could obtain an erection with a whore.

Despite every bit of horrified disgust that notion triggered in his mind, he felt himself going hard. He couldn't help it; the feel of Bellatrix flooded through him like a drug. He didn't care about the blonde witch gyrating on his lap. He didn't care about the bustier beneath his hands, or the smell of perfume before him. He was being taken over by  _her_ , by his little thing, and before he knew it, he found himself panting through clenched teeth.

 _Stop,_  he thought desperately.  _Too much. Please stop._

The feeling of her inside of him faded almost at once, and he knew she'd taken her hand away from her Mark. Voldemort caught his breath and looked up to see Masha smiling seductively down at him. She thought he was terribly aroused by her, he realised. He studied the witch's pale blue eyes for a moment and shook his head minutely.

"Will you please excuse us for a few moments?" Anatoly Sokolov drawled, and Voldemort looked over to see him leading the little red-haired whore, Larisa, back into his office. Suddenly Voldemort found himself entirely alone with the blonde witch, Masha, and he cleared his throat as he asked politely,

"Do you speak English?"

"Little bit," Masha nodded. Voldemort pinched his lips and said,

"Get off of me."

Masha scrambled back then, up and away from the chair. She looked self-conscious as she asked,

"Is there… something else you want? To please you? I do whatever you want."

"You've done more than enough," Voldemort said flatly. He found himself bringing his right fingers to his left hand, twirling his wedding band around his finger. It was a habit he'd picked up over the last few months. Masha's eyes went to Voldemort's hand, and she nodded knowingly.

"She is so lucky, your wife. The Lady." Masha looked a bit wistful then, covering herself a bit with her arms. "Almost none think of wife during things like this. You… I see in your eyes, you think only of her."

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort wasn't sure what to say to that. He glanced over his shoulder to the door that led to Sokolov's office, and he asked Masha, "How long will he be, do you suppose?"

She smirked and shrugged. "Not long. He never take long."

Voldemort couldn't help but snort out a little laugh at that. Masha took a step backward, which Voldemort thought was respectful, at least, and she noted,

"They say The Lady is powerful warrior."

"She is," Voldemort nodded. "The very best warrior."

Masha's eyes went wide, and she admitted, "I always want to be part of Special Wizarding Forces. But… when I was in training, Minister Sokolov… he think I better suited for this."

Voldemort scowled and cleared his throat again. He reached for another shot of vodka and tipped it back, holding another up and offering it to Masha. She took it and drank it gratefully.

"Maybe someday I meet The Lady," she suggested, staring down at her empty shot glass. "Maybe someday I meet the best warrior in Britain. And then I will have my own story to tell proudly."

Voldemort hesitated. What was he meant to say? That he'd set up a meeting before they left Moscow? Of course not. So he stayed silent and stared at his hands on his lap. His erection had mercifully dissipated, but he still couldn't bring himself to look at the whore before him. Finally the door behind him opened, and Anatoly Sokolov came barreling back into the room with the little red-haired witch in tow. She did not look at all pleased, and Voldemort felt an odd tug of pity in his chest.

"So, did you enjoy yourself with my Masha?" Sokolov asked. He walked right up to Masha and planted a kiss squarely on her lips. Masha feigned a little smile afterward, and Voldemort lied,

"I think everyone had fun. But, as you said, I've spent days on a train. And now I've had more than my fair share of vodka. I confess I'm very much looking forward to a good soft bed."

"And there are no softer beds than the ones in Russia! Ha!" Sokolov reached to the tray of vodka shots and knocked another back. Voldemort stood, straightening the suit jacket beneath his outer robe, and he said,

"I believe I know my way back the suite you've given us. Thank you, Minister Sokolov, for the incredibly hospitality. I shall see you tomorrow for the meeting with our wives, hm?"

Sokolov rolled his eyes and complained. "Ugh. I'd forgotten I had to spend time tomorrow with that old hag. Thank you for reminding me! Ha! That's all right. You go get your sleep, Lord Voldemort, and I will spend a little more time with Masha and Larisa."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Masha said seriously, and Voldemort nodded crisply.

"And you. Goodnight."

* * *

Bellatrix paced in the suite's sitting-room. He was close. She could feel him approaching. When he flung the door open to the suite and quickly locked the door behind him, she could read disgust on his face and in his mind. She started to walk toward him, but he snapped,

"I need a shower."

Bellatrix frowned. "My Lord, I think -"

"I need a damned shower, Bella," Voldemort said more firmly. She let him go into the bathroom, wincing when the door slammed. She left him alone in there for ten minutes, and then finally she slid the door open and stepped tentatively inside. She could see through the fogged-up glass that he was fiercely scrubbing at his body with soap, and she said gently,

"I'm not angry."

"I know you're not," Voldemort replied. Bellatrix licked her lip and said carefully,

"Sometimes being diplomatic means doing things you find to be uncomfortable, or even unacceptable."

"I know," he said tightly. Then Bellatrix realised what the problem was. It wasn't just about being loyal to her, or the idea of infidelity in the name of international relations. It was the fact that he had not wanted that whore, that when the witch had been grinding herself on him, it had been an unwelcome intrusion against his body. He'd felt violated.

"I do not require your pity," he said, his voice carrying the slightest hint of a slur from the vodka he'd consumed. Bellatrix said nothing in response. After a moment, Voldemort asked, "Would you mind coming in here with me?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix reached behind to pull down the zip on her black gown, and she let it pool around her ankles. She unhooked her bra, kicked off her shoes, and peeled her knickers down over her legs. She left her clothing atop the pile of his own robes, and she opened the shower door to step inside. The moment she stepped up to him, Voldemort seized her cheeks and kissed her. He was gently, slow. Deliberate. He tasted her and let her taste him right back, and when he pulled away a little, he murmured,

"It could only ever be you."

Bellatrix nodded up and him and promised, "I love you. And we will make it through these few weeks with this madman, and you'll leave with him smiling, and our countries will be friends. And then, on the train back to Paris, you can call him every awful name you can think up."

Voldemort tipped his forehead against Bellatrix's and whispered,

"I need to make love to you."

Bellatrix reached behind him and turned off the taps, and she tipped her head as she reminded him, "There's quite a nice bed out there. Let's go use it."

* * *

_The Krepost, Moscow_

_16 December, 1973_

"He's late on purpose," Voldemort complained, drumming his fingers along the length of his wand. Bellatrix took a deep breath and shrugged.

"Power move."

Voldemort glared at her. "Against me? Not a wise course of action."

Bellatrix said nothing to that, for the door into the reception room had opened, and Anatoly Sokolov came barreling inside with the same blustering, cocky air that he always seemed to have. Behind him was a stocky witch in her fifties, clad in simple, dour brown robes.

"Lord Voldemort! You managed to rise a bit earlier than me, I see," Sokolov laughed. He seemed to pay no attention whatsoever to Bellatrix, nor did he make any attempt to introduce the wife who came tottering in behind him. Voldemort furrowed his brows, obviously noticing the same thing as Bellatrix, but he said politely,

"Our accommodations last night were quite comfortable. Thank you for the hospitality."

"Yes, well, we Russians are nothing if not warm and friendly," Sokolov joked. Voldemort cleared his throat and bowed his head to the witch beside Sokolov.

"Madam Sokolova. The honour is mine," Voldemort said crisply. Sokolov seemed to come to his senses then, snapping his gaze back to his wife. He guffawed and confessed,

"I often forget about her when she's with me. My wife, Tatiana Alexandrovna Sokolova. This is Lord Voldemort and his beautiful little princess, Madam Bellatrix Black."

Bellatrix seethed with rage at that, but somehow she managed to keep a cool head about herself as she laughed awkwardly and said,

"Pleased to meet you, Madam Sokolova."

"Before you and I get to the nitty-gritty of politics, Lord Voldemort, my state photographer would like a few posed shots, if that's all right." Sokolov beckoned out toward the corridor, and a tall, thin young wizard with a complicated-looking camera come swishing into the room.

"Yes. That's fine," Voldemort said tightly. "I'd like copies of the photographs, if you don't mind, for our own newspaper."

"Not a problem," Sokolov said lightly. "Where should we be, Alexei?"

The photographer started gesturing and making arrangements, his stilted English proving to be not much help. He put Voldemort against an elaborately decorated wall, putting Anatoly Sokolov beside him. The two powerful wizards stared at the camera with stony faces, and the photographer took a few shots. Bellatrix stared wistfully at Voldemort, who seemed uncomfortable as he said,

"I think our own people would much prefer a portrait that included their Lady. Perhaps now one with the witches, eh?"

"Why not? Come on in here, darlings." Sokolov held his arm out in feigned welcome, and Bellatrix curled her lip up a little as she approached the men. She stood beside Voldemort, and she felt his arm curl protectively around her waist. She shifted her weight to stand more elegantly, and his fingers tightened on her. Poor Tatiana Sokolova was forced closer to her husband by the photographer, and then a few more shots were taken.

"Now! We must discuss politics. For real this time!"Sokolov laughed. "Leave the ladies to have a little chat; we'll have tea sent in here for them."

"I had thought, Minister, that I would be involved in discussions of any treaties or official agreements," Bellatrix said stiffly. Sokolov was silent for a moment, and then he broke into wild laughter.

"You're not needed, sweet thing," he informed her, and suddenly Voldemort's face twisted with anger.

"I won't be discussing policy or national positions in any meeting without my top diplomat, Sokolov."

Anatoly Sokolov nodded, his pale eyes flicking back and forth between Voldemort and Bellatrix. Finally he said,

"I envy the two of you. To be like magnets in a marriage. But my dear Tatiana was hoping for a friend. Perhaps, Lord Voldemort, you and I can simply have a little time to chat about more mundane matters. We'll bring your top diplomat in when the conversation turns to policy. My poor Tatiana… she's bored by such things, hm?"

Tatiana Sokolova did not look bored. She looked angry. But ten minutes later, Bellatrix was seated across from her on two velvet divans, both witches sipping from teacups whilst their husbands 'chatted.'

"So… Madam Sokolova. How long have you and the Minister been married?" Bellatrix asked, and Tatiana Sokolova's face went a little sad.

"Twenty-nine years," she confirmed. Bellatrix chewed her lip and admitted,

"And I thought we were doing well with three."

"You've probably had far more happiness in your three years marriage than me in all twenty-nine of mine," Tatiana said, taking Bellatrix off-guard. Tatiana looked around to confirm there were no guards in the room, and she set her teacup down. "I want to make you aware, because I think it wrong that it be hidden from a wife. My husband, he gives a certain type of gift to his guests."

Bellatrix blinked and sipped her tea. "The girls, you mean."

"You knew?" Tatiana raised her eyebrows, and Bellatrix said firmly,

"My husband and I do not keep secrets from one another."

"Good," Tatiana said, "because what I tell you now… I am tired of keeping a secret."

Bellatrix set her teacup down and folded her hands on her lap. "And what would you like to tell me, Madam Sokolova?"

Tatiana sniffed lightly and stared at her fingernails. "He gives their fathers positions in the Ministry. Or money. Just buys them if he wants them. The prettiest, youngest ones he can find. And when he grows tired of them, he throws them away like rubbish. He find them other husband, perhaps, or he simply put them out of the palace. In twenty-nine years, I have known of one hundred and sixty young witches that were his. I'm sure there were far more."

Bellatrix let out a shaking sigh. Of course, the personal indiscretions of Anatoly Sokolov were not something that could be factored into diplomatic relations, and she and Voldemort both already knew of his terrible reputation. Still, she found herself feeling a little nauseated as she said sincerely,

"I am very sorry, Madam Sokolova, to hear such a thing. It is an awful thing to hear."

Tatiana smiled sadly and asked, "Did he use the girl? Your husband? If you don't mind me ask."

"No, he didn't. Well, not any more than he had to," Bellatrix said. She dragged her teeth over her lip and said, "You ought to tell Minister Sokolov that you so vehemently disapprove of him using human beings as diplomatic gifts."

Tatiana looked quite sceptical as she said, "In twenty-nine years, he hardly notice I exist. You think he listen to me about a thing like that?"

"Then why don't you leave him?" Bellatrix demanded, knowing she was pushing into territory that was far too personal. Tatiana suddenly looked more than a little frightened, and she shook her head as she said,

"You don't want to know what happens to people that make him angry. I will not anger him on purpose. I rather stay silent and breathing."

Bellatrix had no idea what to say to that. Mercifully, the door to the reception room opened, and Anatoly Sokolov bellowed,

"Sorry to interrupt, pretty girls, but… Madam Black, there is something I wish to show your husband. He insists you come with us."

Bellatrix frowned but rose, giving Tatiana Sokolova a polite nod as she said,

"It was wonderful visiting with you."

"And you." Tatiana stayed seated, apparently knowing she wasn't welcome wherever the rest of them were going. Voldemort put his hand to the small of Bellatrix's back when she stepped up to him. It was another protective gesture, much like when he'd put his arm around her waist earlier. He wasn't even thinking about it, she knew. She was perfectly capable of defending herself against a physical threat, and he knew that. But she let him keep his hand on her back as they walked, for it was helping to calm him. As they made their way down a mirrored corridor, Voldemort said in a tight voice,

"Rodolphus Lestrange is meeting with your Department of International Cooperation. I believe they mean to draught a joint statement of solidarity regarding blood purity and Muggle segregation."

"I will gladly sign such a statement," Sokolov affirmed. "Russia is happy to have a partner in this worldview. With the shit storm in America, especially, it is important to reaffirm our allies."

"Very important," Bellatrix agreed, and Sokolov looked a little surprised that she'd spoken. Bellatrix saw Voldemort pinch his lips in annoyance, so she said lightly to Sokolov, "Your wife is a brilliant conversationalist, Minister."

He laughed cruelly and waved his hand in a dismissive manner as he said, "In almost thirty years, I don't think I've ever actually had anything that could be considered a full conversation with Tatiana."

"Perhaps you ought to try," Bellatrix pushed. "She's a lovely woman."

Voldemort smirked for a half second, and Sokolov just nodded and said,

"You know, My Lady, perhaps you are right. Her birthday is soon. A week or two, I think. Maybe I have a real conversation with her as a gift."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that, Minister," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort's smirk deepened, but then the trio turned a corner and stepped into a lift that didn't seem to go with the rest of the Baroque design around them. Bellatrix frowned a little, and Voldemort's hand tightened on her back as they stepped into the steel-and-black velvet lift.

"This lift goes to a very special place," Sokolov said, pressing the only button on the wall. "Our execution chamber."

He smiled at Voldemort and Bellatrix, both of whose minds were flooded with sudden panic, and he assured them, "Don't worry. We only execute enemies. Never friends."

"What, may I ask, makes an execution chamber a tourist attraction, Minister?" Bellatrix demanded in the lightest tone she could manage. Sokolov let out a low rumble of a laugh and said,

"Don't worry, Madam. You shall see."

The lift stopped in what seemed to be a deep basement level. Sokolov led Voldemort and Bellatrix down a narrow corridor, and Voldemort's thought came straight at Bellatrix through their minds.

 _Have your wand ready. You never know_.

Bellatrix had her wand in a hidden pocket up the sleeve of her robe, and she adjusted the garment so that she could quickly grab the handle of her wand if necessary. But Sokolov seemed utterly unconcerned as he opened a thick metal door and led Voldemort and Bellatrix into a semi-circular room with a few leather chairs.

"Please. Sit." He gestured to the chairs, and Voldemort hesitated for a half second before sinking into one. Bellatrix sat beside him, and Sokolov rapped on the thick glass before them. A uniformed guard on the other side of the glass turned, and Sokolov nodded once. The guard's boots clacked on the concrete floor as he crossed the room on the other side of the glass. He opened a door, and a small parade of prisoners was led into the room. There were five of them, three wizards and two witches. All had their wrists bound tightly behind their back with rope, and they'd been blindfolded with what looked like dirty, bloody linen.

"This group has been condemned to die for the crime of fraternization with the non-Magical," Sokolov said matter-of-factly, staring through the glass. He knitted his hands behind him and said, "One wizard was found to be secretly married to a Mudblood. Two of the witches were working as whores in Muggle Moscow. The other two had non-Magical friends. These crimes are specifically prohibited by our Ministry and by common decency. And since they chose to live among Muggles, they will die like Muggles."

A guard flicked his wand at the group of prisoners, and one by one they fell to their knees on the concrete. Another guard stood before the group and pulled something out of a holster at his hip.

"A gun," Voldemort nodded. "Interesting choice of method."

"Like I say, they will die like Muggles," Sokolov said firmly. Bellatrix watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the guard made some adjustments on his weapon. Then he aimed it at the forehead of one of the prisoners, and there was a bang that ricocheted all around the space. Bellatrix yelped and flinched at the loud sound, watching with interest as the prisoner's head had a circular wound blown into it. He topped over, his blood pooling quickly on the concrete around him.

"I apologise for offending your sensibilities, Madam," Sokolov said with a smirk. "Your husband insisted you come."

Bellatrix cleared her throat and said primly, "Minister Sokolov, when my husband conquered wizarding Britain, I personally spent a great deal of time torturing the previous Minister for Magic with enough Cruciatus Curses that she was white-haired and babbling nonsense. I won't bore you with details of those I've killed and tortured, but… suffice it to say there have been many. I find your execution method interesting, but not frightening."

Sokolov's face was more serious than it had been since they'd arrived, and he finally said to Voldemort,

"You were right about her. I apologize for any disrespect."

"There's no offence taken, Minister," Bellatrix said quickly, before Voldemort could interject. She reached for her husband's hand and watched as the other prisoners were shot. One by one, they crumpled to the ground, and once they were all dead, their bodies were Levitated from the room, and the blood was cleaned up by a guard with a wand.

"How do you punish blood traitors?" Sokolov asked simply, turning away from the glass, and Voldemort snorted a little laugh.

"We kill them," he said. "Or we torture them into insanity and deposit them strategically. One of my Death Eaters, or myself, or The Lady does it. We take it on a case-by-case basis. It works for us, but I admit I see the appeal in the system you have here."

"Different means to reach the same goal, no?" Sokolov said, putting his hands in the pockets of his robe. "What matters is that we all agree - the Magical world must be protected from contamination."

"On that, Minister Sokolov, we certainly agree," Voldemort said. "Why don't we go see if our employees have a statement about that worked out, eh?"

* * *

"We're not staying longer that two days more or so," Voldemort said later, pulling his towel from around his waist and yanking on flannel pajamas. Bellatrix looked surprised as she poked her head out of the bathroom, her fingers carefully braiding her thick hair.

"You're cutting the trip short?"

"The important thing is sign a joint statement on the issue of blood purity, which we're doing tomorrow. The posed photographs for the newspaper, which we've already done. I have no desire to stay any longer. Frankly, I fear that I do, I'll lose my temper with him and destroy the entire mission."

Bellatrix leaned against the threshold of the bathroom and said in a rather sad voice, "HIs wife told me there have been hundreds of witches over the years. He buys them, or gives their fathers positions in exchange for their daughters. Then they get too old, or he gets bored with them, and he casts them aside."

Voldemort squared his jaw and scoffed. "What sort of a man needs an endless parade of women to pleasure him? And he thinks himself powerful? That's quite a weakness to have, I should think."

He paused then, staring at Bellatrix's pretty face as he remembered the way Sokolov had belittled her so terribly over the last few days. He swallowed hard and reminded her,

"At home, they're terrified of you. And yet they adore you."

Bellatrix gave him a weak little smile and nodded. "Thank you for taking a photograph with me in it. But I understand if you give the Prophet the one with just you and Sokolov. After all, he's the Minister for Russia, and you're… you're you."

"And you're you," Voldemort said flatly. He sniffed and turned toward the bed. "The newspaper will receive only the photograph with four subjects."

He slid into the plush bed and sighed as Bellatrix curled up beside him. Her hair was still damp as she put her head against his shoulder, but he didn't care.

"I confess I will not be at all aggrieved to leave Russia," Bellatrix said, "even if they have devised rather an impressive execution system."

Voldemort laughed a little and turned his face to her. "I told him you were vicious. He didn't believe me. Didn't think you could be capable of such things. I rather wanted to turn you loose inside that execution chamber, just so he could see what you can do."

Bellatrix smiled and shook her head. "You know what I can do, My Lord. That's all that matters."

"That's all that matters," he agreed, kissing her forehead and shutting his eyes.

* * *

_The Krepost, Moscow_

_18 December 1973_

She was always beautiful, but for some reason, tonight she was almost unbearably beautiful.

Madam Sokolova had taught Bellatrix the Russian style of folk dancing, and after four shots of vodka, Bellatrix was whirling in lovely circles with her wide black skirts clutched in one hand. Dolohov was singing along with the other Russians in the room; they all knew the lyrics. It was all becoming a blur to Voldemort. He'd forgotten to dose himself and Bellatrix with sobriety potion, and it seemed like the Russians had a neverending series of toasts prepared, each one requiring a fresh shot of vodka.

The song ended and Bellatrix breathlessly giggled as she came dashing over to Voldemort. The farewell party was raucous, with Sokolov's witches smiling on the laps of drunk, loudly singing wizards. Voldemort managed a little smile as Bellatrix came up to him and the bayan player started back up again. She planted her hands flat on his chest, her pale cheeks flushed red from the vodka and the dancing.

"Make me stop," she said with a wide grin, and Voldemort frowned in confusion. He tucked her hair behind her ear, unable to censor himself in front of the others, and she shook her head as she confessed, "I'm having entirely too much fun. You should make me stop."

"Perhaps you should go to bed," Voldemort murmured, knowing no one could hear him over the accordion music. He gave her a knowing look and reminded her, "Things didn't go so well the last time you drank this much vodka, hmm? And, anyway, things will be wrapping up soon. I hope."

Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had already both staggered out of the room to the playful jeers of the Russians, who mocked the Brits for their apparent inability to handle a respectable amount of liquor. Malfoy had left with a pretty young girl on his arm, but if Bellatrix had noticed, she hadn't said anything. Lestrange had seemed so drunk he could hardly walk. Dolohov was more than holding his own with his countrymen, and Voldemort suspected that if he left Dolohov to represent the British government to the end of the party, he'd look just fine. Sokolov himself was nowhere in sight; he'd gone into a private room a half hour earlier with one of his 'pets,' as he disgustingly referred to them.

"Bella," Voldemort said again, more gently this time, "Can you see yourself to the suite? No, nevermind. I'll walk you."

"I don't need help, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted defensively. She pulled her arm away from the hand he'd been using to mindlessly rub at her skin, and he decided against arguing with her. Not here. Not in front of everyone. He pinched his lips and nodded. If she wanted to stagger through the corridors by herself, he'd let her do it. She wasn't a child, and she wasn't delicate. She could handle herself, even after the vodka.

"I'll be along soon enough. If you're sleeping, I'll be quiet," he informed her. Bellatrix boldly went up onto her toes and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. Nobody else seemed to notice; they were all too busy taking another shot of vodka after yet another toast. Voldemort watched Bellatrix go, and he gnawed his lip as he thought again about how very beautiful she was.

"My Lord!" cried Dolohov, holding out a shot glass. "Please, Master. Allow me to make a toast in your honour."

Everyone in attendance stood then, all of them looking more than a little wobbly. The accordion player paused his song, and Voldemort reluctantly took the shot glass from Dolohov. He'd received Dolohov as a Death Eater after the wizard had spent twenty years in Britain; his family had moved during his teenage years from Russia. Dolohov had proven himself stark and cruel in combat, though he wasn't the brightest when it came to political machinations. So Voldemort had low expectations when it came to eloquence from the man. He was pleasantly surprised, therefore, when Dolohov held his own shot glass aloft and said confidently,

"My Lord. I joined your ranks because I feared you and I envied you. I wanted to be you, though I knew such a feat would never be possible. I knew… if I can not be this man, then I can serve him with all that I am. I was not surprised, My Lord, when you conquered Britain. I was honoured to assist you, in a miniscule way, in achieving that goal. Now I live in a nation of just laws, of logical policy, of righteousness and glory. And I am proud to be a Death Eater for the Dark Lord himself. To Britain! To the Dark Lord!"

"To the Dark Lord!" cried all the others. Voldemort nodded his appreciation and tipped the shot glass back into his mouth along with the others. Then he handed his empty glass back to Dolohov and addressed the party as a whole.

"Some say the Italians are the most hospitable people in the world. Others insist it is the Irish. But I know it is the Russians."

He waited for their drunken cheering to die down, and he continued,

"Our stay in Moscow has given us new knowledge and has strengthened the ties between our two great nations. My own personal stay in Moscow has given me more than my fair share of vodka. I fear my liver will file legal charges against me as soon as I'm back in Britain."

Boisterous laughter broke out then, and Voldemort smirked a little. He held up his hand to quiet the group, and he said,

"I would like to thank Minister Sokolov… wherever he's gotten off to… and all the rest of you for the success of this visit. I am confident that diplomatic relations between Britain and Russia will be long and fruitful. But now, I am to bed. Blame it on my fragile English alcohol tolerance. Goodnight."

There was more good-natured laughter and a smattering of applause, and Voldemort said quietly to Dolohov,

"Keep them going until they're passed out on the parquet, Dolohov."

"Of course, Master," Dolohov smirked. Voldemort tried to keep his steps steady and straight as he left the party. In the corridor, he found Anatoly Sokolov walking with a highly intoxicated young witch on his arm, and he said to his Russian counterpart,

"I was just calling it a night, Minister."

"The night is young, Lord Voldemort, but if you wish to spend it with your pretty little wife, well… who could blame you?" Sokolov cackled hoarsely, and Voldemort faked a crooked little smile as the man went past him. He shuddered then, feeling unwell as he contemplated the way Sokolov lived his life. The two of them might share certain political ideals, but it was as Sokolov himself had said - different means to reach the same goal.

* * *

Bellatrix frowned as she turned the corner onto the corridor that led to the English delegation's accommodations, for she heard a female voice giggling quietly. She peered around the corner, blinking through her own intoxication to see Lucius Malfoy in the threshold of his own room. His long blond hair was hanging down in a mess about his face, and he was barefoot with his white shirt wide open. Bellatrix scowled as she realised what was going on. The young witch before him was one of Sokolov's whores. The girl, a skinny little thing with wavy brown hair and a miniature black dress, was saying in fractured English,

"It was… good meet you! Mister Loo-see."

Lucius laughed madly and corrected her, "Loo-shus."

"Yes, it's pronounced  _loo-shus_. At least, that's how my sister says it whenever she talks about the husband she adores so fiercely." Bellatrix sprang out from behind the corner, and suddenly Lucius' eyes went round as saucers. The Russian witch started to scurry off, but Bellatrix impulsively snatched her wand out of her robes and aimed it at the girl's high heels.

" _Evanesco_ ," she mumbled, and the witch's left shoe Vanished. She stumbled, having had her own fair share of vodka, and she face-planted onto the rug that ran down the corridor. Lucius gasped and made a move to go help, but Bellatrix hissed at him, "Touch that whore again, Malfoy, and I'll slice your cock off."

Lucius froze, and Bellatrix barked down the corridor, "Get out of here, you little slut!"

The girl had probably been forced to fraternise with the Englishmen, Bellatrix knew, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. This was her brother-in-law. This was Cissy's husband, and he'd been unfaithful. As the Russian witch peeled off her other shoe and scampered away, Bellatrix stomped up to Lucius and spat at him,

"I promised Cissy. I promised her I'd keep you in line. I didn't know I'd have to babysit you, Lucius. You're disgusting."

"I'm… I'm very sorry, My Lady," Lucius said, hanging his head and looking very frightened.

"Did you learn nothing watching your father take a Cruciatus Curse for mistreating your mother?" Bellatrix snarled, and Lucius just gulped. Bellatrix used her wand to force his eyes up, and she growled, "I asked you a question, Malfoy."

"I ought to have learnt more, My Lady," Lucius whispered. His pale eyes welled and he said in a desperate voice, "I'm in love with Narcissa. So much. So in love with… everything about her. I can't lose her over this; I… I've made a hideous mistake."

Bellatrix felt her own eyes burn, and she lowered her wand as she informed Lucius, "I won't tell Cissy, because I'm not willing to shatter her like that. Go into your room and do not come out until the morning."

Lucius nodded. "I'm so very sorry, My Lady; I promise -"

"I have no interest in your simpering. Go to bed," Bellatrix snapped. Lucius bowed deeply to her, retreated backward into his room, and quietly shut the door. Bellatrix's breath shook between her teeth, and things only got worse when a voice from behind her said,

"My Lady?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes for a moment, then whirled around and took the three steps needed to close the gap between herself and Rodolphus Lestrange.

"You're not meant to speak to me," she reminded him, and he seemed extraordinarily drunk as he nodded.

"I know. I just… I heard a ruckus. Wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Oh, you came to protect me, did you? With one hand?" Bellatrix glanced down to the stump of his left arm, and then she watched Rodolphus' cheeks flush scarlet. She blinked quickly and swallowed hard, overcome with guilt then as she said, "I'm sorry. That was very rude."

"The Dark Lord has graciously offered… he's offered a prosthetic. Many times." Rodolphus' words were a slurred mess as he dragged his right thumb over the place where his hand had been sliced off. "But it's like a badge, you know? A way to remember my brother. A way to show my service. Sometimes I can feel the hand, though."

Bellatrix tried to sound cold and detached as she said, "Yes. Well. Your combat service is… greatly appreciated. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. I think we're all extremely overdue."

She started to walk past him, but he reached with his right hand for her shoulder. His touch was gentle, but Bellatrix swatted his hand away and stared at him with wide eyes.

"What exactly do you suppose you're doing?" she demanded. "I am your Lady; I am the wife of the Dark Lord."

"You're Bella," Rodolphus insisted, and before Bellatrix could open her mouth to warn him, he continued, "I was told I would marry you, and I was very much looking forward to it. I would have made you happy, or, at least, I would have tried my very best. You know, I never did fall out of love with you, Bella."

"Well, that's too bad, because I never fell  _in_  love with you, Mr Lestrange," Bellatrix whispered, her voice shaking with rage. She felt a shock of horror go down her spine as Rodolphus cupped her jaw in his hand, and his hazel eyes studied hers for a moment in which everything seemed to stand still. Bellatrix's eyes seared as she insisted, "If you don't take your hand off of me right this second, you will die."

"Too late.  _Crucio!_ "

Bellatrix gasped as Voldemort's spell socked Rodolphus Lestrange. The red web of light snared around Rodolphus as he collapsed to the ground and began to scream. Bellatrix turned round to see Voldemort stalking toward them, his dark eyes terrifyingly bright with loathing and rage. She could feel his anger pumping through his mind like a heartbeat. He broke his Cruciatus Curse quickly, for Rodolphus was screaming loudly enough that someone might hear.

"You miserable worm," Voldemort sneered down to Rodolphus, who moaned as he rolled onto his side. Voldemort kicked Rodolphus in the face, his boot slamming against Rodolphus' nose and instantly triggering a bleed. "You've wanted her for years. You have a wife of your own, but you could never give it up, could you? At least your brother had sense in him. At least your brother could think properly. The wrong fucking Lestrange was killed that day, Rodolphus. But I'll fix that now.  _Ava -_ "

"My Lord!" Bellatrix yelped, and Voldemort glared at her as she held her hands up. She shook with confused emotion as she insisted, "It will cause a scandal if you come here with five and leave with four."

Voldemort pinched his lips tightly and shook his head. "You know, Bellatrix, tonight I find I don't give a damn about diplomacy. Let everything think whatever they will about the empty bunk on the train.  _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a vibrant jade green flash of light that Bellatrix knew all too well, and then Rodolphus Lestrange was just a motionless heap, missing a hand, lying in a puddle of his own blood on a floor in Moscow. It was an altogether pathetic sight. Bellatrix's fingers shook as she brought them to her forehead and told Voldemort,

"He's your head of International Magical Cooperation."

"Not anymore he isn't," Voldemort snapped. Bellatrix sighed and stared at him.

"Marya's fourteen weeks pregnant."

"Plenty of witches raise babies without wizards," Voldemort said coldly. He shook his head and sniffed lightly, turning his eyes to Rodolphus' corpse. "I'd been putting up with his nonsense for years, Bella. I didn't need him anymore, and I certainly refuse to abide a man touching you and talking to you the way he just did."

Bellatrix studied her husband's face and saw every bit of Darkness he had within him. He was like a marble statue, like a force made from ice and stone, and she shivered where she stood. Finally she nodded and said,

"Of course you're right, My Lord. You did what you needed to do. What you wanted to do. And that is all that matters. Shall I clean up the mess?"

"I'll do it," Voldemort said plainly. "Why don't you go get into bed? Skip the nightgown; you won't be needing it."

Bellatrix huffed out a little breath and shut her eyes. This night had gone from joyful dancing to misery. Between discovering Lucius' infidelity and the fiasco with Rodolphus, Bellatrix felt like sitting in a corner and sobbing until the vodka wore off. Instead she silently obeyed her lord and master, entering their suite and not sparing a final glance to Rodolphus Lestrange as she heard Voldemort say from behind her,

" _Corpus Evanesco._ "

* * *

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_French Railways, Near Warsaw_

_20 December 1973_

"You think I overreacted," Voldemort said, staring across the train compartment to where Bellatrix sat reading. She shut her book and shook her head.

"No, My Lord. I'm just nervous about the fallout, that's all. It's not as though you can cook up some myth about how he died a hero, and it probably wouldn't help anything if you made up a story about him going too far with Russian whores. I'm not certain what you're meant to tell his father and wife. That's all."

"I don't have to tell them anything," Voldemort snapped. "Rodolphus Lestrange made some terrible mistakes. Some very bad choices. I am not obligated to provide any explanation beyond that."

Bellatrix's face softened a little. "Of course you're right, My Lord. The lives of your Death Eaters belong to you, and you needn't explain anything when one is snuffed out."

Voldemort sighed and gave in at last to the blurriness of Bellatrix's outline. He reached into his leather briefcase that sat beside him on the bench seat, and he pulled out the black wood spectacles that he hadn't needed for some time. He pulled them wordlessly onto his face and stared out the window. Bellatrix asked carefully,

"Do you need me to fix your vision again, My Lord?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to have you spend the rest of our lives perfecting every little sign of aging, Bella. Not when we're still so uncertain about what it does to you to heal me like that. I don't mind wearing spectacles every now and then."

He could feel her staring at him. He could feel her eyes fixating on his face. He tried to pay attention to the snowy farmland that was whizzing by, but that was difficult with the way Bellatrix had begun to feel aroused. Voldemort smirked a little, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose. He finally turned away from the Polish countryside view and looked straight at Bellatrix.

"My, my. Madam Black, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a fetish for eyeglasses."

Bellatrix's cheeks went pink at once, and she shook her head insistently as she mumbled, "It's not a… a  _fetish_ , My Lord. I'm attracted to you specifically, all the time. But particularly when you're wearing those."

He laughed a little at that, shrugging and asking her, "Why?"

"I think people often experience things that are not easily explained," Bellatrix proposed. She pushed her wild curls from her eyes, and the sight of her doing that sent a little shiver up Voldemort's spine.

"You're right," he nodded. He stared out the window again, realising it had been days since he'd been able to focus properly on anything at a distance. He didn't give too much thought to what that meant, to the idea that Bellatrix's healing was temporary. He couldn't. Not right now.

Instead he slowly pulled back his left sleeve and began to drag his right thumb along his Dark Mark. He didn't have to look down to know its lines. He'd crafted it himself, after all; the shape of the skull and serpent was practically in his bones. He let out a shaking breath, still staring out the window, and he heard Bellatrix whine a little.

"My Lord…"

He turned his face to her, watching as her fingers curled around the edge of the bench seat. She stared at him, her eyes flashing as his thumb continued to move. He felt blood start to go straight to his cock, but he had no intention of finishing in his trousers.

"The next time I fuck you, I'll wear my glasses," Bellatrix reassured her, and Bellatrix huffed desperately. Her chest was heaving now, and her knuckles had gone white where she gripped the edge of the seat. Voldemort got harder, struggling to control himself as he watched Bellatrix's head tip back and her mouth fall open. She was close, he knew. So very, very close.

He pulled his hand from his Dark Mark and yanked his sleeve down, clearing his throat roughly and staring out the window again.

"Wh…  _what_  was that?" Bellatrix demanded breathlessly. Voldemort smirked and shrugged, pretending to be very interested in a passing barn.

"I've no idea what you mean, My Lady."

She scoffed and said in an angry voice, "You do know, don't you, that a wizard can have someone stop attention to his erection, and then he can still finish five minutes later once someone starts up again?"

Voldemort furrowed his brows. "Mmm-hmm. That is true."

"Yes, well." Bellatrix's voice shook a little as she said tightly, "That isn't true for women! You have to keep going all the way through or you ruin it entirely! Then you're right back to square one."

"Is there where you are, Bella?" he asked, turning his face to her again. "Square one?"

A look of playful defiance came over her face then, and she angrily rose and yanked down the curtain on the wide window. She rushed to peel off her black jumper and to shove her long skirt down over her hips. She kicked off her shoes and shucked her bra and knickers.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort asked, his cock twitching a little in his trousers.

"Finishing what you started, Master," Bellatrix said. She arranged herself on the bench seat again, this time spreading her legs so that he could see the pink folds of her womanhood. She put her left hand to her breast, fiddling with her hard nipple as her right hand went straight between her legs.

Voldemort grunted as he felt her flush of arousal again. He folded his hands tightly over his erection and watched as Bellatrix pleasured herself. Her fingers moved in an expert dance, dragging and pulling and pulsing. Her breath quickened again, and she stared straight at Voldemort's eyes as she whispered,

"Clean them. Please."

He knew what she meant. He snorted a little laugh but obliged her, reaching with a trembling hand to pull his spectacles from his face. He blew slowly on one lens to fog it up, and then he used the hem of his cotton tunic to rub at the glass. He put the eyeglasses back on his face, taking his time to make mostly unnecessary adjustments to the way they sat. Bellatrix moaned and kept pushing her fingers on herself rhythmically. She arched her back, her pink-flushed breasts going skyward and looking magnificent as she whispered a few unintelligible pleas.

Voldemort squirmed a little where he sat. She was too much, and he tried to look away. But then she came, her voice loud enough that he figured the Muggles in the next compartment would know what was happening. Or, at least, that  _something_  was happening. A powerful heady rush knocked into Voldemort like an offensive spell in a duel. He gasped, buckling over a little at the feel of her climax.

"Get over here," he commanded her harshly, struggling to unbutton his trousers with fingers that shook like leaves. Bellatrix took a moment to obey, for she was still coming down from her own high. But she finally rose from where she sat and stalked across the little compartment. Voldemort had pulled his throbbing cock out, and he let Bellatrix pull his hand from it as she straddled his lap. She wordlessly sank down onto his length, eliciting a hiss from him as her wet warmth surrounding him. This wasn't going to last more than half a minute, he realised at once. She was too beautiful, with her milky skin and her gentle curves that felt delicious beneath his hands. She smelled like roses, and as she kissed him hard, she tasted like tea. She was entirely too much.

But then, Voldemort thought distantly as he pumped his seed up into her, she'd always been too much. From the first day he'd met her, she'd been overwhelming. He knew better by now than to fight her off. She was much too powerful for the Dark Lord to overcome her.

She snuggled against him, her bare torso going flat against his heavily-clothed chest as her arms snared around his shoulders. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, and her breath felt so good there that Voldemort found himself murmuring,

"Just stay like this for awhile, will you?"

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed as he put his hands flat on her back. She sounded drowsy but satisfied as she suggested, "Let's not move until the train gets to Berlin."

Voldemort couldn't help but laugh a little at that. He shut his eyes and breathed in the feel of her, thinking that perhaps things weren't so bad, after all. He was steaming back to Paris as the triumphant and uncontested ruler of wizarding Britain. His wife was like a dream made manifest. If he'd had to kill a rogue follower, fine. If he needed spectacles, fine. All that mattered was who he was, and that he had her.

* * *

_Castle Lestrange_

_22 December 1973_

"Marya. I realise you're upset. I do. I know this is -"

"Noooo! Please say it just isn't true. Please. Please!" Marya Lestrange had curled herself down on her knees on the rug and was yanking anxiously at her hair. She shook her head wildly, and drool leaked from her mouth onto the rug. She was breathless and hoarse as she said again, "Please. Tell me it's not true."

Bellatrix sighed and said quietly, "Marya, try and think of the baby."

"His baby!" Marya exclaimed, sitting up and clutching at her abdomen. "Rodolphus' baby! The baby that was made when he and I were here, together! I should have never let him go to Russia!"

Bellatrix hardened her voice a little and said down to her cousin, "That was never your decision to make. Now, listen to me, Marya. Rodolphus was a good man in many ways. If he had made better choices in Moscow, he would have come back."

"What does that even mean?" Marya demanded, heaving herself to her feet and putting her hands protectively over her slightly swollen belly. She was red-faced and puffy-eyed as she shook her head and said helplessly, "I could never replace you in his mind."

"Stop it, Marya," Bellatrix said firmly. "I'm very sorry you've lost Rodolphus. But you need to tread carefully now."

"He loved you with every fibre of his being," Marya moaned. "Sometimes I'd hear him whisper your name whilst he was sleeping."

Bellatrix put her lips into a straight line then, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to sound gentle. "I know you adored him, Marya. He's gone. It was his own fault and precisely no one else's. Not the Dark Lord's. Not mine. Not yours. Rodolphus' fate was his own making. Let me know if you need anything; I'm afraid I have to go."

Marya stared rather blankly at the wall and sniffed as she said, "I suppose he won't be getting the pomp and circumstance that Rabastan got in death, then."

"No," Bellatrix said, shaking her head. "Monuments are for heroes. With shame comes silence. Keep yourself healthy, Marya. It's important that a widow have her child to remember her husband by. Just ask Dahlia."

Marya swiped at her eyes roughly and nodded, her lips and face suddenly looking quite pale. She still stared at the wall as she said through clenched teeth,

"Thank you for coming yourself to tell me, My Lady."

"I'm sorry, Marya," Bellatrix said honestly, and Marya finally let out a long sigh and turned her eyes to Bellatrix.

"I'm sorry, too. Sorry he couldn't get his head on straight enough to serve his lord properly. Sorry he got himself killed because he was a fool. I loved him to pieces, My Lady, but he was nothing if not a fool."

Bellatrix said nothing to that. She just stood there for a long moment, suspecting that Marya knew exactly why Rodolphus had died. Bellatrix hadn't mentioned any specifics, only that Rodolphus had sealed his fate himself. But if Rodolphus had been murmuring Bellatrix's name in his sleep, then Marya knew what had happened. The girl was no idiot.

"Please write to me if you ever need anything," Bellatrix said again. Marya seemed to steel herself then, and she dipped into a clumsy little curtsy.

"Good day, My Lady."

* * *

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London_

_22 December 1973_

"Bella?"

Bellatrix turned round from where she'd been studying her Aunt Walburga's grim little Christmas tree. Narcissa looked a bit worried as she stepped up to her sister, and she asked carefully,

"Did everything… you know, go well? In Moscow?"

Bellatrix frowned. "Did you not see the Daily Prophet, Cissy? It was a smashing success; the Dark Lord and Minister Sokolov firmly cemented our countries' -"

"I meant with Lucius," Narcissa interrupted, and when Bellatrix frowned more deeply than ever, Narcissa clarified, "He's seemed very clingy since he got home. Apologetic about silly things like knocking over a glass of water. Constantly telling me how pretty I am, how much he loves me."

Bellatrix snorted and sipped from her elf-made wine. "And you're complaining about this… why, exactly?"

"He doesn't have anything to be guilty about, does he?" Narcissa asked, wringing her hands before her. "I've heard about the Russian Minister. I've heard he's a complete womaniser."

Bellatrix sniffed and shrugged. "Yes. That's true enough. Sokolov was actually rather disgusting when it came to women. But Lucius represented our Ministry very well in all his meetings, and he conducted himself honourably, so far as I know. I do know he missed you terribly. He said when we were boarding the train in Moscow that he was thrilled we were returning early. He was desperate to see you again."

Narcissa's nervous expression transformed into an expression of relief, and she sighed as she nodded and said, "Thanks, Bella. I worry for nothing, I suppose."

"I don't think any wizard has ever loved any witch as much as Lucius loves you." Bellatrix sipped at her wine again, feeling guilty for telling half-truths and exaggerations to her sister. But she was unwilling to see Narcissa's heart shattered over one drunken dalliance with a Russian whore.

Suddenly she felt a roiling sensation of nausea and a tight pain in her head. It was centred around her eye, as though someone were poking her with needles there. Bellatrix dropped her glass of wine, and it shattered on the wood floor.

"Bella?" Narcissa sounded quite concerned, reaching out to hold Bellatrix's left elbow as she reached for her wand and Vanished the mess. Narcissa found her sister's eyes and demanded, "Are you all right?"

"Erm… yes. I just need to… go sit for a moment. Enjoy yourself." Bellatrix moved quickly away from Narcissa, and those gathered for the Black family Christmas party parted like a sea for her. People bowed and curtsied and murmured their My Ladys at her, but Bellatrix was headed single-mindedly for the staircase.

He'd already made his escape. He'd been standing talking with Bellatrix's father and a few others, and now he was gone. Bellatrix knew exactly where she'd find him. She flung the door to the library upstairs open and shut it behind her, unsurprised to find Voldemort sitting in an armchair. He had his hand pressed tightly to the left side of his face, and he was breathing deeply and slowly with his eyes shut. Bellatrix felt her own pain and nausea dissipate quickly, and she knew he'd thrown up Occlumency shields to keep his discomfort from her.

"Are you ill?" Bellatrix asked simply, and for a moment Voldemort did not answer. She stepped closer to the chair, her voice shaking as she demanded, "What's going on, My Lord?"

His throat bobbed visibly, and he finally opened his eyes and told her, "Worst headache I can ever remember having. That's all."

"Are you ill?" Bellatrix asked again. "Shall I fetch a Healer? A potion? Something."

"I'm… fine." He didn't sound very sure about that, and Bellatrix stepped right up to him and carefully put her hands on his buzzed-short hair. She shut her eyes and breathed deeply, concentrating on how much she adored him. She thought about running down the beach in Spain, giggling like a child as she let the waves sock her legs. She thought of his face in the sunset, staring at her as though she were a work of art. Then she opened her eyes and asked him,

"Is that better?"

It was the method she'd always used to heal him, ever since they'd discovered that that was something she could do. Voldemort squared his jaw, his cheeks going red as he mumbled,

"Much better. Thank you."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open as she scoffed, "You're lying to me. Something's very wrong. What is it?"

"I don't know, Bellatrix," he barked at last, glaring up at her as he reminded her, "People get headaches. It's a thing that happens to people sometimes."

Bellatrix chewed her lip. "Why don't you go home, My Lord? Try a potion, a headache salve. An icy rag round your neck. Lying in a dark, quiet space."

"Are you a Mediwitch now?" It wasn't the first time he'd asked her that with a sarcastic tone. He'd asked the same thing of her the night they'd married one another, and Bellatrix gave him the same answer now she'd given him then.

"I'm whatever you need me to be, My Lord. Shall I come home and help, or shall I stay until the party's over?"

"Stay," he said firmly, rising from the chair and opening his jaw a few times. It seemed to be crackling and popping, and suddenly Bellatrix wondered what else was ailing him that he was hiding from her. Was he falling apart again? Was her seemingly miraculous ability to heal him just a bandage?

"The new year. You said that if we didn't have a solution by the new year, we'd go to Croatia," Bellatrix reminded him, but Voldemort shook his head vehemently.

"I've just returned from Russia; I can't go gallivanting off to Croatia. If I mean to rule wizarding Britain, I ought to stay here awhile, don't you think?"

"If you mean to rule wizarding Britain, you may want to ensure your body's working properly," Bellatrix snapped. Voldemort sniffed a little, ignoring her disrespect as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"People get headaches, Bella," he said again. He bent to press his lips to her forehead, and he informed her, "I'm going to try the Surripiotempus Potion again. It was working to help stave off bad symptoms. I'll try a small dose and see if it can at least take the edge off. And if, in a few months, things have deteriorated, then we'll go to Croatia. I promise."

Bellatrix huffed a little sigh and nodded. "I won't stay too long."

"Stay long enough to be polite," he instructed her. "If anyone asks, a sudden issue came up that required my attention."

Bellatrix smirked up at him. "I don't think anyone would dare ask why you left a family Christmas party, Lord Voldemort."

He kissed her again, this time on the lips, but his voice shook a bit against her skin as he whispered,

"See you later, little thing."

Before she could answer, he took a step back from her and Disapparated on the spot. Bellatrix stood staring at the place where he'd been, feeling anxious. Nothing had ever been absent complication when Surripiotempus spells or potions were involved. And, of course, she was wracked with dread about how sharp and aggressive his pain had been through their link. But she gathered himself and followed his orders, making her way back downstairs to the party.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_22 December, 1973_

Perhaps, Voldemort thought distantly, Bellatrix thought there was a small chance she'd come home to find that the Surripiotempus Potion Voldemort had taken had made him a handsome thirty-year-old again. Or perhaps she thought she'd come home to find that his symptoms had abated and that he was resting comfortably. She probably was not expecting to find him the way he was now, crouched over a toilet like a drunkard, heaving his guts up.

Every time he vomited, his stomach clenched and he retched violently. He'd long since reached bile, which burned and seared his throat like he was throwing up acromantula venom. His hands were wrapped tightly around the porcelain bowl, and his breath shook like mad as he tried to stop the bathroom spinning.

"My Lord?"

Her voice sounded like it was coming from the far side of a tunnel, like it was disembodied from her very being. He said nothing, blinking slowly and hoping for some reason that she wouldn't step on his glasses. He'd taken them off because of how violently he was retching, and they were on the floor beside him. He was sick again then, more acidic fluid searing through his throat and looking disgustingly green in the toilet bowl.

He felt humiliated, like a filthy child, and he suddenly remembered a time at the orphanage when young Tom Riddle had come down with a bad stomach virus. The illness had affected him much more severely than the Muggle orphans, probably because the physiology of wizards was so different. He'd spent days vomiting, which had apparently been a severe aggravation to the Muggle wenches who ran the orphanage.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix's voice again. She had crouched down beside him, which baffled Voldemort a bit. One of her hands pressed between his shoulder blades and rubbed gently, and with her left hand, she used a cool washcloth to wipe carefully at his lips and chin. He shut his eyes, trying to just accept what she was doing as he thought toward her,

_I've tried the Surrpiotempus Potion. Anti-nausea and anti-emetic potions and spells. Nothing worked. The headache's as bad as ever. I apologise for being more than a little revolting._

"You are not revolting," Bellatrix murmured. Voldemort was sick again, but this time all that happened was that his stomach twisted and yanked horribly and he gagged and spluttered.

"Nothing left," he managed to cough out, and Bellatrix sighed from beside him. She had the cool cloth on the back of his neck and her lips pressed to his cheekbone for a moment, and she whispered,

"Let me help you to bed. Please. I'll Conjure you a bucket."

Somehow she managed to help him. She flushed the toilet and cast a few Scouring charms upon his mouth, and she carefully put his glasses on the ledge above the sink. She must have Levitated him, at least partially, because he found himself on his feet with her helping him stagger back out into the bedroom. He was dizzy and weak as he sat on the edge of the bed, and his chest ached as Bellatrix knelt down to pull off his dress shoes.

"Bella," he said, his voice hoarse and tired. He swallowed, and it hurt like hell to do so. Bellatrix seemed to pick up on how thirsty he was, and she quickly Conjured a simple glass and filled with an Aguamenti spell. She passed him the water, and he used a shaking hand to bring it to his mouth. He sipped slowly as Bellatrix peeled his socks from his feet, and he finally said down to her,

"I feel like an utter fool just now. I'm sorry."

Bellatrix shook her head, but when she looked up to him, he could see that she was crying. "I'm horrifically worried for you," she admitted. "I want you to feel well. Tell me how to help you."

"If only I knew," Voldemort sighed. He stared down into the glass of water as Bellatrix stood and started pulling off her black velvet dress. She kicked off her own high heels and started changing into a nightgown. He saw then that there was a metal bucket beside the bed, and he wondered when she'd managed to Conjure it. He set the water down on the bedside table and pressed his fingers tightly against his forehead. "Perhaps… perhaps just a great lot of good rest. Do you suppose you could go fetch me a bottle of Dreamless Sleep?"

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently. She padded barefoot across the bedroom, looking terribly concerned as she glanced over her shoulder. Whilst she was gone, Voldemort peeled off his clothes until he was down to his black underwear. His wand trembled as he carefully Banished the clothes to the wardrobe, and as he pulled himself between the bed sheets, he tried desperately not to be sick again. He shut his eyes and nearly fell asleep, wondering if he was doomed to an eternity of physical hell.

"My Lord," he heard Bellatrix's voice say gently, and he cracked his eyes to see her standing beside him, uncorking a bottle of purple fluid. She used a glass dropper in her other hand to dose him, counting out three droppers' full and then stopping the bottle back up again. She set the potion down and asked him, "Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable? Can I try healing you again?"

"Let's just sleep," Voldemort suggested, feeling profoundly tired. He shut his eyes and insisted, "I believe that a solid night's sleep will mend it all up."

He didn't believe that, of course, but it was a nice thought. He could feel Bellatrix climbing into the bed beside him, and he felt compelled to murmur,

"Thank you."

"I'm your wife," she reminded him. "You've cared for me through worse. But… may I ask you something, My Lord?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Bellatrix hesitated for a moment, but she finally asked, "Why did you make so many of them?"

Horcruxes, she meant. Why had he made so many Horcruxes without doing better research on what the effects of such magic would be. Voldemort's eyes burned behind his lids, and he admitted softly,

"I don't know. I suppose I felt safer each time I made a new one. That was folly… obviously."

He'd thought of destroying every Horcrux but one and then killing himself so he could use the last one. He'd contemplated that perhaps such an action might eradicate all of this physical nonsense. But he knew, of course, that that was an absurd notion.

"I would like your permission to go to Croatia on my own," he heard Bellatrix say, and he was too drowsy to snap at her. He turned his head and forced his eyes open, and he whispered,

"I'll figure it out, Bella."

"With all due respect, My Lord, I can not sit by and simply wait this out," Bellatrix insisted. "Please. Please give me permission to go to Croatia after Christmas. I shall be more careful than you can imagine. I'll take my journal. I'll stay in constant contact."

"What if you don't find an answer there?" Voldemort asked. Then, pushing her even harder, he demanded, "What if there is no answer?"

"I refuse to accept that idea," Bellatrix said firmly. Her face went hard as stone, and she said quietly, "You are the most powerful wizard who has ever lived, and I am your Lady, and I will not watch you be eaten alive by your own magic. Please let me go to Croatia."

He felt a strong need to cry then, which was more humiliating than even the vomiting. Somehow he managed to just nod once and whisper,

"Fine. Go to Dubrovnik, Bellatrix, and see if the crone has anything to tell you. Don't think I live in ignorance of the fact that I would not be in this castle, ruling this country, if it were not for you. So, yes. Fine. Go to Croatia."

Fresh tears spilled from Bellatrix's eyes, and she nodded firmly as she thought at him,

_Thank you. I need you. I love you._

_And I love you, little thing._ His eyes fluttered shut as the Dreamless Sleep started to wholly overwhelm him. In the last moment before he surrendered his consciousness, Voldemort found himself thinking at Bellatrix, _I need you more_   _than you'll ever comprehend. Goodnight._

* * *

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_25 December 1973_

"It's snowing." Bellatrix pressed a hand to the paned glass window and smiled a little out onto the grey moor. "I've never actually seen snow on Christmas."

"Nor I," admitted Voldemort from behind her. "Frigid rain, many times. Never snow. It is a bit beautiful, isn't it?"

Bellatrix nodded, glancing to the magnificent tree they'd decorated together two days before. She listened as the Wizarding Wireless crackled out traditional carols. Then she heard Voldemort say a bit firmly,

"You don't have to go."

"I think I do," Bellatrix whispered. She would be leaving tomorrow for Paris by Portkey, and she'd stay overnight at a boutique Muggle hotel, in cognito. She'd give her mind and body time to rest from such a far Portkey journey before continuing on with another to Dubrovnik in Croatia. There, she would find the witch they called simply Nadia.

Now, as Bellatrix stood staring at her lord and husband, she felt an awful pit of dread in her stomach. He looked, quite frankly, as though he were dying. His skin was terribly pale and looked paper-thin. His eyes were sunken and dull behind his spectacles. His hands trembled and never quite stopped. He looked much older than he'd ever looked; in the past few days, it seemed like he'd added another fifteen years to his life. Bellatrix had tried pouring her love into him for hours at a time, but it was to no avail. Every hour had seemed to steal more of his being. Bellatrix wanted to leave right this minute, but he'd insisted she not go to Paris until sunrise. She wasn't sure she could obey him and stay in Paris for any demonstrable time resting. And, after all, he'd trained her to disobey him. Now seemed like the time to use that skill.

"If you'll fetch it," he said quietly, gesturing with a shaking hand toward the Christmas tree, "I've a small gift for you under there."

Usually he would have been able to wandlessly Summon the gift himself, but Bellatrix said nothing as she walked to the tree. She bent and picked up her own gift for him, a large box wrapped carefully in black paper and silver ribbon. His was a simple black cube with a small card on its lid. His script was the same as always, if a little shakier, and it read Happy Christmas, Little Thing.

Bellatrix sighed and carried the gifts over to where Voldemort sat. She handed him her gift and asked,

"Shall I open it for you?"

"I'm not that broken, Bella," he insisted quietly, but there was no malice or defensiveness in his tone. She sank into the chair opposite and watched as he tore slowly at the black wrapping. She quickly Vanished the paper as he opened the box and pulled out the new, heavy winter cloak that was waiting inside. It was black waffle-weave, made of a blend of silk and wool and charmed to be waterproof. It was lined with four layers of black flannel, and the clasps at the neck and chest were in the shape of Dark Marks. Voldemort dusted his fingers over the cloak and sounded very honest as he said,

"It's absolutely magnificent. Where on Earth did you get this made?"

"I made it, My Lord," Bellatrix said. When he raised his tired eyes in surprise, she flashed him a shy little smile and nodded. "I learnt some new weaving and stitching spells. I even made the clasps myself, though I did have to buy the metal."

"Bellatrix," he breathed. He heaved himself slowly from his chair, standing on shaking legs and wrapping the cloak around himself. His trembling fingers struggled for a moment with the clasps, but she let him do it himself. He adjusted the high collar around his neck and pushed his hands out of the slits at the sides.

"Good. I got the length right," Bellatrix nodded. She'd estimated his height, knowing well how far above her he stood after five years of loving him. Voldemort dragged his fingers over his bald head and nodded gratefully.

"Thank you." He sat down again and smirked a little as he said, "I'm keeping it on for right now. It's quite cosy."

Bellatrix laughed and held up her own gift. "May I open it?"

He nodded, and she pulled the lid from the box. Inside was a simple ring that looked like someone had taken a hammer to black stone until it vaguely resembled a circle. Bellatrix couldn't help but frown as she pulled it out, and Voldemort cleared his throat as he said,

"Put it on your right hand and Conjure yourself a mirror."

She obeyed him, slipping the right onto her right fourth finger. Oddly, it felt quite comfortable once it was on, despite how rough it was in appearance. She Conjured a small mirror and stared at her reflection, gasping and touching her fingertips to her face.

Her skin was darker - no longer milky white, but a solidly tan shade. Her hair was auburn and straight and fell right to her shoulders. Her eyes were the same - those were never easily Transfigured, she knew. But her nose was longer and more narrow. There were little gaps between her teeth, and her lips were thinner. Her chin was more pointed. There was a dusting of freckles along her cheeks and nose. Bellatrix looked up at Voldemort and demanded,

"You made this?"

"Seems to be the year for homemade gifts," he joked, his face serious. "When you put the ring on, that disguise takes you over. When you take it off... well, why don't you see?"

She pulled the ring off and held the mirror up again, finding that she'd gone right back to her old self. She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes burning as she informed him, not for the first time,

"You are the most powerful wizard who's ever lived."

"I'm far more impressed by the cloak you made than by the ring, but... I appreciate your enthusiasm, Bella." Voldemort turned up half his mouth, and Bellatrix rose from her chair. He stood again, still seeming quite shaky as he approached her and took her face in his hands. He stared at her through his glasses, his voice abruptly steady and firm as he said,

"You stay safe, you understand me? I won't lose you for this. I just won't."

"Why would you lose me?" Bellatrix demanded, and his fingers tightened.

"Don't agree to anything without consulting me. I know you, Bellatrix Black. If that crone Nadia tells you you could save my body by giving up your own life, you'd do it."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open and she tried to argue, but of course he was right. He tipped his head and, as if to make his point, he instructed her,

"You are not to agree to anything that puts you in danger, and that is a direct order from Lord Voldemort. Do you understand me, Madam Black?"

"I understand," she nodded, shaking where she stood as she studied his pale, drawn face. He bent to touch his lips to hers, and she tried desperately not to cry as she whispered, "Happy Christmas, My Lord."

"Bella." He kissed her more deeply then, though she could feel it took effort for him to wrap his arms around her. She let him just pull her against his body, and she breathed him in as she tucked her face against the cloak she'd made for him.

* * *

_Dubrovnik, Croatia_

_27 December 1973_

The islet of Lokrum was six hundred metres from the city of Dubrovnik, but in many senses, it seemed a world away. From what Bellatrix had already discovered, Dubrovnik was a city of plaster and stone, perched along the rugged, walled cliffs overlooking a perfectly sapphire sea.

Lokrum, she could see from the deck of the ferry, was verdant and lush, almost as though it had been plucked from the South Pacific and tossed down here alongside the city. This, Voldemort had told Bellatrix, was where Nadia lived. There was an old Muggle monastery on the islet that had been badly damaged in an earthquake in the 17th century. A hundred years later it had been 'deserted,' and Nadia had apparently been living there in secret ever since.

Once she was on the islet, which had been designated by the Muggles as a nature preserve, Bellatrix found herself surrounded by cacti, palms, agave, and other myriad plants that hadn't been evident in the city of Dubrovnik. If the witch Nadia was interested in potion-making, Bellatrix reckoned, this would be a fine place to find ingredients. She was quite certain there was far more on this islet than the Muggles realised.

The islet was small, but Bellatrix, disguised as the tan, auburn-haired alter ego her ring gave her, had to be stealthy in sneaking away from the group that paraded off the ferry. They were nearly all headed to the Botanical Gardens - Muggle tourists from all over Europe. Bellatrix wound her way through the forested paths toward the centre of the tiny island. There were rumours, apparently, that the Muggle government intended on restoring the abandoned monastery. Bellatrix figured that a witch like Nadia, based on her reputation, would somehow keep her home.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she would simply move on if the Muggles came for the place. After all, Nadia had scooped the monastery up from Muggle-imposed irrelevance. Surely she could do that somewhere else if she so desired.

Bellatrix stared at the ruined complex, marveling at the lovely colonnade that wended about a cloister. The bell tower was broken; it had probably come tumbling down during the earthquake hundreds of years earlier. Bellatrix stepped closer to the monastery, her boots crunching on the detritus of the forest. As she approached, she felt a Magical shield vibrate around her, but it admitted her. Surely it was something to repel Muggles, or to sense the presence of an invader. Bellatrix sighed nervously and carried on, making her way toward the cloister.

Suddenly she saw a tiny woman make her way out of a room with no door. She wouldn't have reached Bellatrix's shoulder if they'd stood side by side, Bellatrix reckoned. She had a red kerchief tied over her wispy white hair, and she wore simple, rough-hewn brown robes. She held up her hand and beckoned silently, and then she disappeared back into the room from whence she'd come.

Bellatrix glanced around, feeling for some reason like she was being watched or followed. She swore she could hear whispers around her, but she tried to ignore the sensations of unease as she walked across the courtyard that had long since gone wild with weeds and cacti. She stepped around a huge chunk of carved marble on the ground, which seemed to have fallen from the monastery's building long before, judging by how moss had grown all over it. Then she stepped beneath the cloister and into the room where the crone had gone.

It was a space illuminated by stained glass windows that seemed strangely intact compared to the rest of the building. The frescoes on the walls, too, were beautifully vibrant. In the middle of the room was a simple wooden table and two even simpler chairs. The crone sat down in one and said in heavily accented English,

"You may sit and remove your ring, Madam Black."

Bellatrix felt a jolt in her chest, and as she pulled off the charmed ring and tucked it away, she demanded in the calmest voice she could manage,

"How do you know who I am?"

"I saw you in his mind long before he ever thought of you," Nadia said simply. Bellatrix was confused; she could feel no press of Legilimency in her own head, and she had her Occlumency shields up tightly.

"I don't need Legilimency, my dear," Nadia said with a knowing smile. "Not after this long. So. He has achieved all his wildest ambitions, no?"

Bellatrix knitted her fingers in her lap and said simply, "He is the uncontested ruler of wizarding Britain. He is very loved by his people, even more so by his wife."

"The wife from whom he stole an organ to patch up the fact that he had helped her steal fertility?" Nadia looked almost amused, and she shook her head as she said, "Tom Riddle has always been very intelligent. But wise? There is a difference. It was not wise to make so many Horcruxes. I told him so years ago, but of course it was too late. It still is."

"No." Bellatrix shook her head violently and said, "There must be something. Something. I can't watch him... I can't lose him. Please help me."

Nadia looked thoughtful for such a long while that Bellatrix wondered if the witch would ever speak again. But then she aimed her knobby wand at the wall and murmured something Bellatrix didn't understand. A moment later, Bellatrix gasped in alarm as a large, thick book came soaring in through the doorway of the room. Nadia put the book down in front of her, and Bellatrix gaped at its ancient-looking, hand-painted cover.

"How did Mr Riddle get the Elder Wand?" Nadia asked suddenly, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open.

"The what?"

"The Elder Wand," Nadia said patiently. Bellatrix frowned.

"You mean like from the story? About the three brothers? There's no such thing; it's just a myth."

Nadia tipped her head and smirked a little. "Yes. Of course you are right. Albus Dumbledore probably thought the same thing. Now. On to this book."

Bellatrix was shaken, but she fought through it to pay attention. Nadia grazed her claw-like fingers over the cover of the book and said in a newly solemn voice,

"I have been keeping this book since it was given to me two hundred years ago. I never had the right person to give it to. Perhaps now is the time."

"What does it do?" Bellatrix asked, feeling her head spin with nerves. Nadia dragged her fingers over the weathered spine of the book and said,

"It is, in a sense, an extraordinarily powerful diary."

"My husband has some experience with powerful diaries," Bellatrix pointed out, but Nadia shook her head.

"Not like this one. Tom Riddle must write every wicked thing he has ever done into this book. The book will absorb the evil, and his decay will be siphoned away from his body and soul."

"Wicked things," Bellatrix repeated. "You mean like killing."

Nadia smirked. "Like killing. And other wicked things."

"And what if he doesn't think anything he's done is wrong?" Bellatrix asked nervously.

"That is where his wife comes in," Nadia said warmly. "I feel great Darkness radiating from you like heat from the Sun, Madam Black, but you have scruples yet that your husband lost before the day he was born. You must walk with him through his life, from his very earliest memories. Through every year, every instance in which his actions were really and truly wicked. And then he must write it all down in the book. It will take time. It will take patience. And he will need to atone in the book for future evils, too. But if the both of you are vigilant, his degradation may be halted and reversed."

Bellatrix stared at the book, feeling a roil of emotion as she raised her eyes to Nadia's ancient gaze.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Nadia slid the book across the table.

"Alone, his own ego would strap reins onto him. With you, Bellatrix, and with your aid... the world is his and his alone."

Bellatrix took the book and bundled it up in her arms, nodding and feeling fresh tears boil over as she said again,

"Thank you."

"Go," Nadia nodded. "Your necklace will get you all the way home, you know."

Bellatrix froze, touching her fingers to her necklace and blinking as she protested, "It's impossible to Apparate that far."

"Not with his magic," Nadia said with a knowing smile. "Go. Start at his very beginnings. With the orphan boy, the one called Benjamin."

Bellatrix nodded and whispered her thanks again. Then she held fast to the book, shut her eyes, thought of Archer's Edge, and Disapparated.

When she came to, she found herself staring down at a seated, shocked-looking Lord Voldemort.

"Bella?" He seemed as though he couldn't believe she'd already come home. Bellatrix grinned and held out the book to him, boing her head respectfully.

"I have the answer, My Lord."


	8. Chapter 8

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_29 December 1973_

"So, if this book 'absorbs' wickedness and all its potential to damage you, where exactly does that wickedness go?" Bellatrix asked nervously as Voldemort scribbled the details of a memory into the thick book she'd brought him from Croatia. He finished writing, set his quill down, and sighed.

"I've considered that. I am mildly concerned that all of the negative bits, the damaging bits, will be contained within the book. You pack enough of that together, and it starts to feel like a... a weapon. A very fragile sort of weapon. And so I don't want you to touch it, you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded and folded her hands together in her lap. "I understand, My Lord. I won't touch it."

Voldemort picked his quill back up and added one more sentence to the page before him.

_I felt precisely no compunction in Billy Stubbs' grief over his dead rabbit and did, in fact, take particular glee in hearing his loud crying through the thin walls between our dormitory rooms._

He took a break from writing then, and more importantly a break from thinking, and he set the quill down again. He stared across the desk at Bellatrix, just studying her eyes for a moment. They glistened, black like ink and wide like a child's, and then suddenly he felt sorrow from her.

"It's only two days until your birthday," she lamented, "And I haven't had a chance to plan a proper party or anything."

"A public celebration of Lord Voldemort's birthday is far too personal, I should think," he told her. "It is better that they celebrate me annually on the anniversary of Dumbledore's death."

"Fair enough," Bellatrix mumbled, "but I don't even have a gift for you yet. I'm sorry."

He smirked at her and shrugged. "It's my own fault for having a birthday six days after Christmas. Not as though I give you much room to breathe on the gift front, eh? And, anyway, I truly think that cloak is... well, it's impressive. You could sell those, you know, for quite a lot of money."

She laughed and reminded him, "I'm meant to open an optometry shop, remember?"

"Oh, yes." He touched at the glasses frames she'd made for him and said, "You could do any number of things, Bellatrix."

"Nothing nearly as important as what I'm doing, though," she said gently. She let out a little breath and asked, "Where did you leave off? June of 1936?"

"Yes." Voldemort felt a little pang of discomfort as he drummed up his old life. He thought over the summer of that year, when he'd been a boy of nine who didn't yet understand why he was so different from the others. He sniffed lightly, settling on a particular memory, and he told Bellatrix,

"There was a girl called Tabitha. A year or two younger than me. She had perfect blonde ringlets and deep dimples when she smiled. A couple came to the orphanage looking for a girl around Tabitha's age. They'd lost a daughter to polio, they said, and they didn't want their other child to be alone. So they came and visited Tabitha at least three or four times. Tabitha bragged and bragged in the dining room one evening that she was about to be adopted, that she would have a family, and for some reason I was absolutely overwhelmed with angry jealousy. I'm not sure why."

"Not hard to understand why," Bellatrix assured him, and Voldemort shrugged.

"I didn't yet realise that it was no honour to be purchased by a Muggle family, I suppose. In any case, I somehow managed to hex Tabitha. She was completely covered in disgusting boils... oozing pus, swollen and red. The Muggle couple came back, and when they saw Tabitha, the woman panicked. She demanded to know what illness Tabitha had. Was she going to need to be in hospital? Would she die? Mrs Cole tried to reassure them that Tabitha would get better, but the Muggle couple never returned."

"And did Tabitha ever get adopted?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort shook his head.

"The last I heard, she'd run away around age thirteen and disappeared."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Are you sorry, My Lord? For ruining her chances like that?"

"No," Voldemort said coldly. "And, anyway, this exercise isn't about guilt, is it? It's about recording wickedness. Guilt aside, it was undoubtedly wicked of me to hex the girl and scare that family off. But I'm not sorry, no."

He picked up his quill again and dipped it into the inkwell on his desk. He touched the nib to the paper in the book and wrote,

 _In June of 1936, I deliberately spoiled any hope of the Muggle orphan Tabitha being adopted. I hexed her to make her look diseased_.

"I think that's plenty for today," he said rather sharply then, thinking that he'd poured out more than enough of himself at once. He shut the heavy book and pulled out the drawer to his right, carefully putting the book inside and using his wand to ward up the drawer. He raised his eyes to Bellatrix and said, "Only thirty-seven years of terrible deeds, occurring in increasing frequency. We'll be finished in no time."

Bellatrix did not seem amused by his jape. She seemed anxious. So Voldemort huffed a little and held his fingers out toward her.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I wrote that last bit with a steady hand."

Bellatrix reached to lace her fingers through his, and her lips curled up a little when she felt that the tremble had gone. Voldemort pulled her hand a bit closer to him, carefully drifting his fingers all over her skin. He bent one of her fingers just to watch the knuckle bend. He dragged the pad of his thumb over her smooth fingernail and along its edge. Then he heard himself murmur,

"I like to touch you."

"I like to be touched by you," Bellatrix replied simply. Voldemort met her eyes, and for a very long moment, he couldn't tear his face from hers. His gaze finally traveled to other parts of her, to her kinky, wild black hair to her full lips. He flicked his eyes around her gently rounded breasts, down her thin arms, and then back up to her eyes. He turned up half his mouth, squeezed her hand a little, and whispered,

"I like to look at you, too."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and he could feel sudden, powerful desire radiating from her. He pulled his thumb over her knuckles and asked her,

"If I lie on my back on the bed upstairs, would you...?"

He didn't finish, for it was entirely too embarrassing to admit that he didn't yet have the physical strength for vigorous sex. But he did want her, and his cock had gone quite hard in his trousers. Bellatrix nodded quickly and rose from her chair, leading the way from Voldemort's office. He was humiliatingly slow in climbing the winding stairs, and he had to stop twice to catch his breath. At the top, he found himself dizzy and weak, and Bellatrix murmured from beside him,

"Please, My Lord... will you try to put more in the book each day?"

He nodded silently. She was right, of course. Even if the old witch Nadia had been right, even if this book could somehow reverse all the damage wrought by his Horcruxes, he'd need to act more definitively. In the two days since Bellatrix had come home, he'd only managed to record incidents of accidental Magic from his childhood at the Muggle orphanage. As the narrative moved farther ahead, his acts of wickedness would have become daily occurrences. At the rate he was confessing now, he'd need years and years to make a dent in his physical degradation. He was immortal, and so was Bellatrix, but somehow it felt like they were running out of time.

"I'll write more quickly," he promised her. "I'll spend hours doing it; if I have to stay up at night to do it, I will."

"I just want you to be able to climb stairs, My Lord. That's all." Bellatrix's face was positively tragic then, her eyes searching his with desperation and fear. He nodded and walked with her into their bedroom, and each of them stripped their clothes off in silence. This felt far less urgent than previous encounters between them. There were no frantic kisses, no trousers yanked down over hips. Her bra was removed slowly, by hands that weren't desperate to do anything else. Voldemort finally found himself on the bed, naked and staring at the ceiling as he wrapped his hand around his half-hard cock.

"Bellatrix," he said quietly, and he heard her hum a nonverbal reply. He swallowed hard and told her something that was more true now than ever. "It could have only ever been you."

She appeared beside him, crawling up onto the bed and hovering just above him as she said, "I was made just for you, remember?"

"Yes." Voldemort reached up to tuck her curls behind her ear, a familiar and comforting gesture, and she bent to kiss him. He might have felt impotent like this, vulnerable on his back, having poured out his filthy childhood to the witch above him. But it was her. It was Bellatrix. She felt like absolutely everything as she kissed him, and her touch sent fire through his veins. She dusted her fingers over his chest, around his stomach, over his hips and finally up onto his cock. He grunted softly, his own hands going straight for her waist and encouraging her to straddle him.

"You know," he said breathlessly as she massaged his shoulders and biceps, "They say that no two things ever really touch. When you get down to the atoms, to the tiniest parts that make up everything, they're just ever so slightly separated. It isn't possibly for the atoms to embrace, and so nothing ever actually touches anything else."

Bellatrix smirked. "That sounds like quite a lot of guesswork. I feel like I'm touching you, that's for certain."

"They may be right about the atoms, but they didn't know about a different sort of touching," Voldemort said. When Bellatrix frowned, he thought straight at her,

_Am I not making contact with you now? Real, actual contact? I think I am._

Bellatrix grinned and nodded. She pulled herself up, aiming his tip at her body and sinking down as she begged him,

"Touch me, My Lord. Please. Even if there's some minuscule distance. Please touch me."

Voldemort obeyed, his palms caressing her breasts and then working their way over her skinny torso to her hips. He encouraged her gentle rocking, feeling a warmth spread in his mind. That was her, he realised at once. She was embracing him inside their mental link. For some reason, that made him moan a little, and his fingers cinched on her thighs. She quickened her movements, and Voldemort found himself reaching from his mind into hers. He sent the idea of how beautiful she was, how guilty he was of daydreaming about her in meetings. He adored her. He'd said that long before he'd said he loved her, and it was still true. He adored her, and he sent that feeling right into her mind.

She looked abruptly emotional, her hands shaking as they covered his on her hips. She bent to kiss him once more, and the second he did, Voldemort unexpectedly felt an easy climax take him over. It wasn't an explosion, as coming often was. Instead it was like a wave washing over a beach. Like the sea in Spain.

"Bellatrix," he whispered against her lips, feeling her body go through the same swell of gentle pleasure his had done. A few moments later, he'd slipped out of her body and she was lying atop him, her face burrowed into th crook of his neck.

"I'll write faster," he promised her again, and all of a sudden his head was flooded with memories from the orphanage. Making the meat go rancid at dinner. Luring two other orphans into a cave on a beach trip and torturing them with the primitive means he had. Managing to Vanish Mrs Cole's beloved pair of pearl earrings. Voldemort felt the terrible ache in his bones, the uncomfortable tingle on his skin, and he said again, "I'll write faster. I'll write more tonight."

"You don't have to do any more tonight, My Lord," Bellatrix murmured, pulling her head up from his neck. He met her eyes and pushed her curls from her face.

"Yes, I do," he nodded. "Let's go back downstairs."

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_31 December, 1973_

"And it was actually Cerda. Cerda Rosier, as she was at the time. She came right up to me and just boldly asked if I'd go with her to the Valentine's Day event." Voldemort looked almost wistful as he shrugged and admitted, "I could see no use for her; she was brave, but she was stupid, as far as I could see. A middling pupil with no demonstrable skills. I told her to go ask Abraxas Malloy, who was a year younger than us. She was heartbroken for a few days, but after I prodded Abraxas, he asked her to the party, and the rest is history."

Bellatrix laughed a little and said, "I thought they'd been betrothed before then. My mother always made it seem like her cousins were doled out early."

"They were betrothed, but they didn't like one another," Voldemort said firmly. "They never have. But Cerda backed off me when I told her that March, after she made another move, that I could fix her nose if she wanted me to do it."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide, and she shook her head as she lamented, "My Lord, that's terrible! What was wrong with her nose?"

"Nothing," he said simply. "Nothing at all. But she was already promised to Abraxas, and she was annoying me, so I told her I could fix her nose. And that... is what I shall write."

He picked up his quill and scribbled some words into his book, and Bellatrix tried not to laugh. Cerda Malfoy was so deferential toward Lord Voldemort. It was very difficult to imagine her young, sobbing after being rejected by a handsome Tom Riddle.

"Would you like to see?" Voldemort murmured as he wrote, and Bellatrix frowned in confusion. Suddenly she felt his mind crack open, and he seemed to be replaying as much of the memory as he could. In her mind, Bellatrix saw a willowy Cerda Rosier, her strawberry blonde hair carefully coiffed in the style of the early 1940s, flirting ostentatiously with the young man who had once been called Tom. He said something quietly to her, and suddenly Cerda's hands flew to her nose and her pale blue eyes welled. The memory dissipated, and as Voldemort set his quill down, Bellatrix chastised him,

"I think that qualifies as wickedness."

"Well, that's why I wrote it down," Voldemort said lightly. He cracked his knuckles against one another and noted, "Seventeen hours in the past three days. But we've made good progress, I think. Almost through my fifth year at Hogwarts. I only hope some of the next bits don't... you know, that you won't judge me too harshly for them."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and insisted, "My Lord, there is no tale you could weave for me that could horrify me. I've a strong stomach for it all."

"I know," he nodded, "but some of my very worst deeds were when I was still Tom Marvolo Riddle. Right at the end of being him. I confess I was a bit of a monster then. Perhaps I still am, but... I had no power, no authority. I was, perhaps, evil for evil's sake."

"With all due respect, My Lord, I don't think that's true," Bellatrix argued. "You killed your father for a reason. When you made your Horcruxes, you carried out the acts that needed to be completed to do so. Without all of that, would you be the man you are today?"

"No," he said quietly as he shut the book. "No. Probably not."

He cleared his throat and eyed the clock on the wall, raising an eyebrow as he said to Bellatrix, "They won't be here for another hour; it's not too late to cancel."

Bellatrix smirked. "If you genuinely want me to uninvite them, My Lord, I will. I thought if it was just the Malfoys and my family for a quiet dinner, it would be enough but not too much. I'll send owls at once if you wish it."

"No. It's fine," said Voldemort, quirking up his lips a little. "Just... erm... keep them from singing that silly birthday song at me, won't you?"

Bellatrix grinned. "Right. No birthday song. As you command, My Lord."

* * *

"I would like to make a toast, if I may." Bellatrix stood from her chair, and her parents and sister and the Malfoys reached for their glasses of wine. Voldemort gave her a weighty look and a little smile, and Bellatrix said to those gathered,

"First of all, I hope that our House-Elves' cooking was to everyone's liking. Bakky sometimes overcooks steaks, but I think they were fine tonight."

Everyone laughed quietly, mirth and happiness worming its way around the dining table. Bellatrix glanced down at Voldemort and continued,

"I am the most profoundly fortunate witch who has ever lived. To work alongside the most powerful wizard in history is a privilege beyond measure; to be married to him is almost unfathomable. In the new year, I know that wizarding Britain will become more stable and prosperous than ever before. We are each of us extraordinarily lucky to be here tonight celebrating the birthday of our lord, our master, and the man who has saved Magical Britain."

She turned her eyes squarely to Voldemort, sensing sudden affection from him as she said more gently,

"Thank you, My Lord, for all that you have done for us and all that you continue to do. We shall forever be in your debt, and we shall serve you dutifully always. It could have only ever been you, My Lord. Today I ask my family and the Minister's family to join me in wishing you a most happy birthday."

"Happy birthday, My Lord!" Abraxas Malfoy cried, and the rest of the table followed his lead. Everyone drank from their glasses, including Voldemort. As Bellatrix sat back down, he joked quietly,

"This is why I wish she'd been given the opportunity to speak properly before the Russian Ministry. You'd have astonished them all, little thing, with your eloquence. Thank you."

She felt the spike of anxiety from him in the moment he realised he'd publicly used his nickname for her. He'd been calling her his  _little thing_  for about five years now, but never in front of anyone else. No one at the table seemed particularly affected by the slip-up, and Bellatrix tried to calm his embarrassment through their link. His eyes locked on hers for such a long moment that the dining-room went quiet. Sometimes Bellatrix felt like she was falling in love with him all over again. This was one of those times. She knew everyone was ogling them, that they were staring at one another like love struck teenagers, but she couldn't look away. Even when her father's voice broke the tension in the room by exclaiming that the cake had arrived, she couldn't look away. Finally Voldemort blinked quickly and tore his gaze from hers. The sense of want that had been boiling up in his mind disappeared so suddenly that she knew he'd thrown up Occlumency defences between them.

Bellatrix sternly informed the others that there would be no singing, and as everyone enjoyed their slices of cake, small conversations broke out. Lucius and Narcissa were talking quietly to Druella Black about something or other, and Abraxas Malfoy broke quickly into a political discussion with Voldemort. Cerda Black seemed entirely too focused on her cake to care about conversation, and Bellatrix thought as she studied the woman's face that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her nose.

"Bellatrix, dear?"

She turned to her right and smiled a little at her father. Cygnus seemed like he was struggling to find something meaningful to say, and he finally asked,

"Was it... erm... was it quite cold in Moscow?"

"It was," Bellatrix nodded. "Lots of snow. But we weren't outside much. We were working quickly to solidify a written agreement, you know? But on the train, especially in Poland and Belarus, we saw quite a lot of snow and it seemed bitterly cold."

Cygnus turned up half his mouth and nodded as he said gently, "Bellatrix, I must admit that when you were a little girl, I feared something awful would happen with your life. You seemed so brazen, so hellbent on causing trouble, and... well, I worried for you."

"Yes. The Dark Lord told me about the time that I pushed Cissy over in front of the Rosier house and you called me a troublemaker." Bellatrix took a small bite of cake and winked at her father, who said rather seriously,

"Then he told me that all the best ones - the game changers, he said - were troublemakers. He knew you'd become something wonderful, even then. And he was right."

"He usually is," Bellatrix said with a little smile. She turned on instinct to glance and Voldemort, and she found him half-listening to Abraxas with his eyes flicking over to her. She still couldn't feel his mind; he'd locked himself away from her. But she watched his fingers tighten on his thigh, and his eyes lingered on her for a longer moment as Abraxas kept talking.

"This cake really is delicious," Cygnus said happily. "Your House-Elves can certainly bake."

"I baked it," Bellatrix said, unable once more to look away from Voldemort. His eyes blazed, as if he were furious or anxious or both, and she finally managed to look at her father and confirm, "I baked it last night and chilled it. You like it?"

"Druella, dear!" Cygnus called, and his wife looked up from her conversation with Lucius and Narcissa. Cygnus gestured down to his plate and said incredulously, "Guess who baked this cake?"

"Erm... a... House-Elf?" Druella shrugged, and Voldemort let out a low, rumbling laugh as he chided Druella,

"Didn't you know your daughter was so skilled in the kitchen?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and huffed, "You're all embarrassing me. I'm quite certain the House-Elves would have done better, anyway."

"Don't be modest, My Lady," Voldemort said stiffly. He turned to the others and said, "She's vicious in battle and a wordsmith in diplomatic conversation. She designs spectacle frames, makes elegant cloaks from scratch... and bakes. I daresay one would be hard-pressed to find a better wife... no offence to the illustrious witches present tonight."

Everyone laughed a little then, and Bellatrix's parents began to chat as Lucius and Narcissa turned their attention to the Malfoys. Voldemort cleared his throat quietly and stood, and once everyone realised he'd risen, they all followed suit. He gave them all a rather grim little smile and said,

"Excuse me for a just one moment. Help yourselves to more wine and cake. My Lady... a quick word?"

Bellatrix was more than a little confused as she followed him from the dining-room, and even more confused when he started briskly down the corridor.

"My Lord," she hissed, "is something the matter? Why did you just - mmph."

He'd cut her off by pressing her against the stone wall and crushing his mouth hard against hers. He let his Occlumency shields down, and suddenly she felt his almost overwhelming desire crash into her mind. She reached on instinct between them and felt that he was completely hard beneath his flowing robes. Suddenly he was parting his robes and his fingers were flying along the buttons at the front of his trousers.

"I'll be quick, Bella," he whispered. "Sorry. I... just... I'll be quick."

Bellatrix glanced frantically down at her outfit, at her tight leggings and boots and long, belted tunic, and she muttered, "I can't get out of my clothes here."

"Well, you can get on your knees and it'll be over in thirty seconds. Promise." Voldemort gave her a meaningful stare, and Bellatrix smirked up at him. She kept her eyes on his as she sank to her knees, and she feigned indignation as she asked,

"Really? This couldn't wait until they'd gone home?"

"You can take your clothes off when they've gone home. Right now I need... ahhh..." Voldemort tipped his head back and snaked his fingers through Bellatrix's curls as she lathed her tongue up the bottom of his shaft. She knew he was feeling better in the last day or so. He was feeling stronger, less depleted. She knew that was making him more virile than ever. Still, she was surprised that he was willing to do this, to have her on her knees with his cock in her mouth when the others were nearby.

So it was with only a little surprise that she heard Narcissa's voice yelp in shock from down the corridor. Bellatrix wrenched her mouth from Voldemort's cock and flew to her feet, swiping at her mouth with her wrist and staring at her sister. Narcissa stood stock-still, her hands clasped over her mouth, and she mumbled,

"I was just... looking for the bathroom. I'm... I'm so, so very sorry. I..."

"Bathroom's that way," Bellatrix said rather breathlessly, pointing to Narcissa's right. From behind her, she heard Voldemort mutter a Delenio Charm to take his erection down. He'd turned away to discreetly tuck himself back into his trousers. Narcissa nodded and looked red as a tomato as she said again,

"I'm so sorry."

"Not a problem," Bellatrix said lightly, pasting a little smile on her face. Narcissa stumbled away, looking utterly terrified, and Bellatrix whirled to face Voldemort. He was desperately suppressing laughter, she could see. He was very amused with himself. Bellatrix swatted at his shoulder and hissed, "This isn't funny! She probably thinks you'll kill her for this!"

"Well, reassure her that that won't happen," Voldemort murmured. He dragged his hand over his head and shrugged. "I usually pay much closer attention to who's around me. I admit I got a little... distracted."

"Yes. Starting at the table, I think." Bellatrix huffed out a shaking breath and suggested, "Why don't we go back to your birthday dinner, My Lord, and perhaps you and Lucius can chat whilst I sit beside my sister and make sure she knows she won't be punished for stumbling upon... that."

"What an excellent plan, My Lady." He rubbed his thumb beneath her eye, and suddenly she remembered what Nadia, the Croatian witch, had said about power, intelligence, and wisdom. She'd been right about Voldemort, Bellatrix thought. He was very strong, and very smart, but sometimes he made silly choices. Resigned to the fact that they all operated entirely at his whim, she laced her arm through his and said playfully up to him,

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you." He bent to touch his lips to her forehead, and he led her back toward the dining-room.

* * *

_Archer's Edge, Lake District_

_2 January, 1974_

"Naturally, Dumbledore suspected me at once. A monster set loose in the school? A girl murdered? Who else could it have been but the terrible, awful Tom Marvolo Riddle? He loathed me so deeply, even then. Even before he had any real proof of anything."

Voldemort drummed his fingers on his office desk, and Bellatrix was mute with surprise opposite him. Voldemort picked up his quill and felt stronger than ever as he wrote simply,

_I opened the Chamber of Secrets, released the basilisk within, and caused the injury of several students and the death of one Myrtle Warren._

He set his quill down and found himself hurtled back in time to that chaotic year. He pinched his lips tightly and informed Bellatrix,

"I knew Rubeus Hagrid was a hapless oaf. I also knew he had a peculiar fondness for dangerous creatures, which he treated like pets. He had an acromantula, a beast he called Aragog, and I confronted him about it. Then I turned him into Headmaster Dippet. Everyone believed my story - it had been Hagrid's fearsome acromantula who had killed Myrtle. Everyone believed it except for Albus Dumbledore, but he was just a Transfigurations professor then. He couldn't stop Dippet from granting me an award for Special Services to the School. Hagrid was expelled. The Mudblood girl's grieving parents went home. And everything went back to normal."

"As normal as possible," Bellatrix suggested. "Do you think that's when you realised it?"

"Realised what?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix tipped her head - a little tic she'd picked up from her husband. She shrugged and asked, "Is that when you realised how far you could go? What you could do?"

"No." Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk again and insisted, "I'd known for quite some time; I'd just never received the opportunity to exercise my potential."

He picked up the quill rather purposefully then and turned his attention to the newly empty page; his previous writing had already been absorbed. If he was honest, he did fear the book a bit as it was filled with more and more purged wickedness. He'd resolved to never let Bellatrix lay a finger on it; he'd had a dream that she'd touched it and it had exploded like a bomb and killed her. Still, it was working. His hands and arms were far less stiff; the awful wrinkling and sagging in his face seemed to have eased a bit. He sniffed lightly and wrote,

_In order to avoid personal punishment, and to avoid Hogwarts closing when I had no other refuge, I framed Rubeus Hagrid for the death of Myrtle Warren._

He sighed and waited for the ink to sink into the page, and then he shut the book. He stared at Bellatrix for a long moment and reminded her,

"We've a meeting with Hadley Carrow and Malabit Rowle."

"About the Auror situation. Yes. You'd said you wanted to do that at Malfoy Manor?"

Voldemort nodded and smirked a little. "Yes. It'll give you the chance to talk your sister off the ledge. Abraxas Malfoy mentioned yesterday that Narcissa seemed very out of sorts."

"I'm sure she is out of sorts," Bellatrix said, her cheeks going a bit pink. "She saw me with your... on my... you know."

"On your knees with my cock in your mouth?" Voldemort gave her a teasing look and shrugged as he said for the fifth time in three days, "I honestly didn't know she was there. I apologise for the trauma."

"Yes, well, you'll have to put that into your book once we've caught up to the present," Bellatrix scolded him. She rose from her chair and suggested, "Shall we go, then?"

* * *

_Malfoy Manor_

_2 January 1974_

"Madam Rowle, perhaps you might elaborate on the specific skill sets in which Auror candidates are lacking," Voldemort suggested. Bellatrix eyed the other two witches across the meeting table in the large library where they'd gathered. Hadley Carrow looked almost defensive as she stared at Malabit Rowle, who said carefully,

"Well, My Lord, we are finding that the candidates are more prepared for a technique we call 'subdue and capture.' That means they might be able to - with enough numbers - Stupefy or trap a criminal and bring them back into the Ministry. However, the tactics of the Auror Office have changed since the installation of our new government. Now we need Aurors to be ready and willing to cast Unforgivables in battle without getting injured themselves."

"More aggressive duel training, then, it would seem," Voldemort said to Hadley Carrow. "Are the students being instructed in how and when to deploy the Cruciatus Curse, for example?"

Hadley Carrow hesitated and then finally said, "We do teach them about the usefulness and importance of the Unforgivables, but we've found that not all students possess the disposition or personality to actually utilise the spells effectively. Practical training during lessons has proven... difficult."

Voldemort scowled, looking profoundly irritated by that answer. He didn't seem to understand why it was that any demonstrable population of Hogwarts students would struggle with using Unforgivables. Bellatrix took a steadying breath and suggested,

"My Lord, perhaps Headmistress Carrow might screen out the students who do seem like they've the potential for real battle work. Then, perhaps, beginning in their fifth or sixth years, these students might stop taking coursework less relevant to an Auror career and begin focused, smaller lessons where they prepare mentally and Magically for the Auror programme."

Hadley Carrow's and Malabit Rowle's faces both lit up, and Carrow nodded. "Tracking. We could expand that, too, My Lady. We could easily determine by the fifth or sixth year what careers students are likely to fit and begin limiting and focusing lessons to those careers."

"Everybody wins." Bellatrix smiled a little and turned her face to Voldemort. "What do you think, My Lord?"

"I think it's a marvelous idea," he nodded, sounding impressed. "Madam Rowle, would it help if your Auror candidates had more focused training whilst in school?"

"It would help tremendously, Master," Malabit Rowle said, looking quite satisfied. Voldemort tapped his fingers on the table and nodded.

"Well, then, it's settled. Headmistress Carrow, I'd like to see a plan by the end of the week for how you'll screen students before the end of term. Beginning in the autumn, I want to see potential Auror candidates being more specifically educated."

"Yes, My Lord. I shall send a detailed plan over as soon as possible," Carrow nodded. Voldemort nodded again and shrugged.

"Dismissed, then."

Malabit Rowle and Hadley Carrow both stood, each curtsying deeply to Lord Voldemort and then to Bellatrix herself. She flashed them each a small smile as they left the room, and once they'd gone, Voldemort said,

"I think that will work well. Wouldn't have occurred to me, I must admit."

"That's why you keep me around, isn't it?" Bellatrix teased with a little wink. "I'm the ideas girl."

"You are, in fact, the most skilled torturer in wizarding Britain. Besides myself. I'd like you to do a short workshops this spring with the Auror trainees. Help them wrap their heads about the idea of the Cruciatus."

Bellatrix smirked. "I don't think I'm a very good teacher, My Lord."

"I wasn't asking," Voldemort said sternly, and suddenly Bellatrix felt a rush of desire toward him. He was never more attractive than when he was bossing people about, and she blinked quickly as she whispered,

"Of course I shall do the workshops, My Lord. Anything you wish."

He was silent for a long moment, and then he held out his hand and said gently, "Come here, little thing."

She rose and walked to the end of the table where he sat. She took his hand and let him bring her knuckles to his lips. His dark eyes flashed as he whispered,

"Teach them what I taught you. About how they scream for mercy."

"And then for their mothers," Bellatrix nodded, "and then for nothing at all. I'll teach them to hold the spell long enough, to push through the fatigue. Just like you taught me, My Lord."

He seemed slightly overwhelmed then, his breath shaking as he nodded and squeezed her hand. "My vicious little thing. Go and find your sister."

Bellatrix managed to track Narcissa down to a sun room only after asking Abraxas, then Cerda, and then Lucius where she was. Nobody seemed to know. Finally, Bellatrix knocked on the threshold of the sun room and watched as Narcissa turned round from a table spread out with new black linen blouses.

"Bella!" Narcissa grinned, her voice shrill. She looked like she hadn't slept in some time, and her normally-smooth hair was a tangled mess. She gestured down to the table before her and said in a rushed tone, "I was trying to decide on a new blouse, but I just can't pick one. I just... you know, there's the one with the lace around the wrists and the one with the... the..."

"Buy all three. You know Lucius will let you." Bellatrix stepped into the room and walked up the table, dusting her fingers over the middle blouse. "This one's the prettiest."

"Oh. Yes. Quite so." Narcissa nodded vigorously and rubbed at her eye like a sleepy child. "Yes. I'll send the other two back, then."

"Cissy." Bellatrix waited for Narcissa's pale eyes to reach hers, and she said gently, "You have no reason to be afraid. We're embarrassed is all!"

That wasn't true, strictly speaking. Bellatrix had been humiliated, but Voldemort still seemed amused, days later, by what Narcissa had seen. But a little change of pronoun wouldn't hurt anyone, Bellatrix reckoned. Narcissa's hands shook wildly, and she sounded breathless as she admitted,

"I haven't been able to sleep. All I could think was that the Dark Lord would eliminate me, that the two of you would kill me together because of what I'd seen."

Bellatrix felt gravely offended then, and she scoffed, "Narcissa. You're my sister. I would never kill you!"

Narcissa gave Bellatrix a rather dark look, and in that moment Bellatrix knew that Narcissa had figured out Andromeda's fate more exactly. Bellatrix cleared her throat and shook her head.

"If you want the truth, Cissy, the Dark Lord got a bit hot-blooded. That's all. It happens to all men at some point, I'm sure."

"Hot-blooded," Narcissa repeated. "Why was he punishing you like that? I was so confused; it seemed like... you'd been singing each other's praises at the dinner table, and then he was punishing you. What did you do?"

"Wait. What? Punishing me?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. When Narcissa's confusion didn't let up, Bellatrix asked slowly, "Just what exactly is it that you think you saw, Narcissa?"

Her sister's cheeks went scarlet, and she mumbled, "You were on your knees and he was... erm... he was holding so tightly onto your head. And when you stood up, you were all flushed and... Bella, why are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. Oh, you sweet little thing. How exactly did you wind up pregnant?" Bellatrix found herself properly cackling then, slapping the table with amused disbelief as she registered that Narcissa was naive about sex. In a way, it was tragic, seeing as how her young husband had proven himself more than adept at wrangling a new partner for himself in Moscow. Bellatrix gathered herself, trying not to giggle as she said,

"Cissy, there are many, many ways that witches and wizards give one another pleasure, you understand?"

Narcissa furrowed her brows, and then everything seemed to click together in her mind. She visibly gulped and said,

"So you were just... what, using your mouth? On that part of him?"

"You know, I really don't think it's appropriate for me to go into that much detail when the Dark Lord himself is part of the conversation," Bellatrix said honestly. Then, feeling sudden pity for Narcissa, she said, "You ought to ask Lucius about it. Ask him if he'd like you to use your mouth. Ask him to help you do it in a way he likes. I think hell be very glad if you ask him about that."

Narcissa looked embarrassed then, and she said quietly, "I was never part of the group of Slytherin girls who whispered at night about things like this."

"I know. You've always been so much more rue than the rest of us," Bellatrix nodded. "But you're married now, and there's no need to pure. And there's no need to be afraid. You didn't see anything dangerous, and nothing bad is going to happen to you, either. You understand?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." Narcissa stared out the window onto the gardens for a long moment, and then she mused, "I'm very lucky, My Lady, to have you as a sister."

Bellatrix thought about correcting her, telling her that the title wasn't necessary. But right now it felt a little necessary, so she just quirked up half her mouth and said again,

"The blouse in the centre is the prettiest, but I do think Lucius would let you keep all three. Particularly after you've used your mouth on him."

Narcissa snorted a little laugh then, her incredible tension finally dissipating a little. She turned to Bellatrix and nodded once more.

"Thanks for rooting me out in this giant house to clear it all up."

"See you soon, Cissy." Bellatrix turned to go, reaching out in her mind to find Voldemort. If he'd been amused before, he was going to buckle over with laughter now.


	9. Chapter 9

_Archer's Edge_

_4 January 1974_

"It was actually the first time I ever cast Killing Curses. I used my idiot uncle Morfin's wand to do it, of course, but it didn't matter. It still felt..."

Voldemort trailed off, and Bellatrix parted her lips before she finished for him,

"Amazing."

He knew she was thinking of the first time she'd ever cast a Killing Curse. He swallowed hard and said simply to her,

"You were radiant that day."

She smiled shyly. "Tell me more about what happened."

Voldemort pressed his fingertips to his forehead and said, "I quickly used the Gaunt family ring, the black one I told you about, to create another Horcrux. It was immensely powerful. I could tell at once. I hid it in the Gaunt shack. Inside a golden box, under the floorboards."

"Under the floorboards," Bellatrix nodded. "Is that why my bracelet's under the floor at the Doxy's Nest?"

Voldemort licked his lip and admitted, "Perhaps I inspired myself. I Confounded Morfin Gaunt over and over until he was entirely convinced he'd killed the Riddle family himself. It made some modicum of sense; his wand bore the scars of the murders, and he had intense hatred for the Muggle who had impregnated and abandoned his sister. They threw him away in Azkaban."

Bellatrix studied his face for a very long moment, and he struggled to find any emotion in her dark eyes. Finally she said quietly, "Sometimes blood relatives aren't actually family. It does bring a certain peace, doesn't it? Killing those ones."

Voldemort's heart began to race then, because he knew once more that she was the only human who could ever begin to understand him. For years, he'd hidden his past from her, embarrassed by it and afraid it would jeopardise the new life he'd built to tell her any of it. But now he could see that she understood him more deeply with every line he wrote in the book from Croatia. And the more she understood him, the more she loved him. He picked up his quill and wrote,

_I murdered by Muggle father and my grandparents at their house in Little Hangleton. Using an ancestral family ring I'd stolen, I used the Dark energy of their deaths to create a Horcrux, which I hid in my mother's family home. I framed my insane Uncle Morfin for the Riddle family's murders, and I carefully warded the Gaunt shack to guard my Horcrux._

By the time he set the quill down again, he felt that he'd done more than enough purging for one day. He shut the book and opened his desk drawer, pushing the book inside and returning his quill to its holder. He stared across the desk to Bellatrix, meeting her eyes and abruptly finding himself with nothing to say.

It seemed to last forever, the way they stared straight into one another's eyes. A little crackle of desire flared up in their minds, and with each passing second, it pulsed and grew a little stronger.

"Is this what happened at your birthday party?" Bellatrix whispered. When Voldemort shook his head in confusion, she specified, "I couldn't look away from you. You were anxious because you called me your 'little thing' in front of everyone, and I looked at you, and then I couldn't look away."

"Neither could I," Voldemort said, forcing his eyes from her at last. "Not until I put my Occlumency shields up. And even then I wound up dragging you into the corridor, hm?"

He could feel Bellatrix's heart beating like a frantic drum. He could practically sense her rapid breath in his own lungs. He had never yet felt as intrinsically bound to her as he did right now. It should have frightened him, he thought. Ever bit of logic he possessed told him to flee from the way his soul had meshed with hers. But he wasn't afraid, and he couldn't run away.

"I had to put my shields up," he said, raising his eyes to her again, "because if I hadn't, I'd have bent you over that table in front of my Minister and your parents and sister, and I'd have fucked you until you came."

Bellatrix's lips shook and her eyes glazed for a moment. She looked dizzy as she whispered,

"The corridor was better than that, I suppose. Even if Cissy walked by."

Voldemort realised his cock was going hard in his trousers, and he reached down to dust his fingertips over the bulge there as he said to Bellatrix,

"It has been... quite some time."

"Since we made love?" she asked in bemusement, for there had been several quiet, gentle times recently. But Voldemort shook his head and amended,

"Since I fucked you."

Bellatrix nodded, looking for all the world as though she could neither think nor breathe properly. Her want radiated through her mind, hot and red and insistent. Voldemort tipped his head, knowing that he was finally physically up to the task at hand.

"I need to be a bit rough with you," he said, "and more than a little commanding."

"That sounds fine, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, her cheekbones going scarlet. Voldemort smirked and told her,

"Stand up and take your clothes off. All of them. Slowly."

She obeyed, rising from her chair and carefully peeling off her casual black dress. It stretched over her shoulders, and she slid it down her torso. An elegant black lace bra was revealed, and Voldemort's eyes went straight to the firm nipples that were just barely visible behind the lace. Bellatrix pushed her dress over her narrow hips, showing her matching lace knickers as she did. She kicked the dress away a bit and bent to unbuckle her calf-length black leather boots. She shucked them and stood, pulling at the black satin ribbon that bound her hair back in a simply ponytail. She shook her curls out, making Voldemort's hand deepen its touch on his now-fervent erection. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, sliding it down her arms and expertly dangling it off one fingertip before letting it fall.

"Bella..." Voldemort's voice cracked a little, and he reminded himself that he wasn't here to be seduced by her today. He was going to dominate her. He jerked his head toward her knickers and said sharply, "Those, too."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said seriously. She slid the knickers down and pushed all the clothes away. She rolled her shoulders back a little, her small breasts looking more perfect than ever on her slim, short body. She still looked so young, Voldemort thought. She always would. For some wild reason he suddenly found himself wondering what she would look like as a forty-year-old, but now he'd never find out. It didn't matter, he supposed.

He sat up a bit straighter and worked quickly to unbutton his waistcoat and his white dress shirt. He pulled off his tie bar, setting it carefully beside his quills, and then he loosened his tie. He peeled the shirt and waistcoat off, tossing them onto the ground as Bellatrix stared at him with lascivious eyes. Voldemort wordlessly reached for his wand and aimed it straight between Bellatrix's legs.

 _Vibratio Trio_ , he incanted no verbally. Immediately, Bellatrix's hands balled into fists and she gasped. The vibration would hit her in just the right place, Voldemort knew. It made him harder than ever to feel her bliss, to feel the way she was being wracked by the stimulation. She made a move to sit in the chair, but Voldemort hissed at her,

"Stay where you are."

She forced herself to stand, her arms wrapping around herself in a desperate self-embrace as everything started to go tight and warm within her.

"Bella," Voldemort heard himself whisper, unable to help himself. When Bellatrix came where she stood, the detonation in her mind rocketed straight into Voldemort's consciousness. It was all he could to do keep himself from spilling in his trousers. He'd had other things planned for her. He'd wanted to shove three fingers into her and demand that she come again for him. But he wasn't going to make it that long, he knew. Not without putting up Occlumency shields, and he found he didn't want those just now. He wanted to feel her pleasure, and he wanted her to feel his.

He flew to his feet, yanking his belt from his trousers and tossing it away. He unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them and his underwear down. He kicked his shoes off and peeled off his socks, and he walked efficiently around the desk to where Bellatrix stood, still recovering.

He seized her face in his hands and kissed her as hard as he could, eliciting a yelp from her as their teeth bumped and his groan buzzed against her mouth. He bent down to suckle hard on her neck, knowing he was leaving marks as he pulled her skin between his teeth. She cried out, her arms going up around his bare shoulders, and that only spurred Voldemort on. He let his mouth move to her collarbone, sucking and biting until he knew she'd be polka-dotted purple. He squeezed at her breast, kneading the pillowy flesh in his palm as his cock pushed against her abdomen.

"My Lord," she whispered, sounding hoarse with need. He could feel the searing pain from her, the way he was aggressively leaving marks stung and burned. But she liked it, and he could feel that, too. He knew she was perfectly aware of the effect all this was having on him. Everything was melded then - her desire and his, her pain and his delight, they way both their bodies were aching for more. It was entirely meshed together, just like the Moreaus from the storybook.

Voldemort seized Bellatrix's waist and shoved her toward the desk. He heaved her up so that she was sitting on the edge of the heavy wooden desk, and he pressed his forehead to hers as he whispered,

"Spread your legs for me, little thing."

She did, making his cock twitch as he caught sight of the slick pink folds between her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, and Voldemort lined himself up and pushed himself straight into her body. She was so wet, so very ready for him, and he grunted at the feel of her body embracing him. He knew she could feel the way he perceived her. Warm, wet, tight, young. Beautiful. He could feel the way she perceived him, too. Hard and full inside of her, his dark eyes mesmerising. Powerful.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort bucked his hips, holding tight to her thighs for leverage. She wrapped her legs around his waist and tipped her head back, and he knew she was close again. He ground his cock against her as he pumped - in and out, in and out, like the movement of a machine. He latched his mouth onto a spot on her throat that he hadn't attacked yet, and she moaned like a harlot in response. Voldemort deepened and quickened his thrusts, moving so vigorously against her that he was nervous she would fall from the desk. Finally everything started to contract, to twist and tighten in his stomach, and he knew he was seconds from exploding. He took Bellatrix's face in his hands and kissed her through it, feeling his cock twitch and pulse as his seed filled her. There was so much of it that he could feel it leaking straight back out, all over his desk and down her thigh, but he kissed her even as that happened.

Finally he forced his mouth away from hers, feeling like it had been a considerable chore to do so. Bellatrix was glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked, her lips swollen and her neck covered in marks. Voldemort's breath shook through his teeth as he let himself slide out of her limply.

"There," he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. "That's better. I needed that."

"So did I," Bellatrix nodded. She finally let her legs fall from his waist, and she reached with trembling fingers for her own wand. She cleaned up the mess around her body, and Voldemort made his way back to his clothes.

"My Lord, it seems as though you're... erm... feeling a bit stronger," Bellatrix noted, moving gingerly as she pulled her knickers and bra back on. He smirked at her and nodded.

"It's better with each day."

"That makes me very happy," Bellatrix confirmed. "Very happy indeed."

He wanted to tell her that she'd been entirely right to insist on going to Croatia. He wanted to tell her that he knew he would never be where he was now without her. He wanted to confess that purging his past to the book, telling her all those stories, had been almost therapeutic. But he suspected she knew, so as he slid the tie bar she'd given him five years earlier onto his black tie, he just murmured gently,

"Thank you, little thing."

* * *

_Archer's Edge_

_18 March 1974_

_"Well, hullo there, Bella."_

_Rodolphus Lestrange grinned serenely up from where he sat on the riverbank. Bellatrix silently sat beside him, picking at the grass at tossing it into the water one blade at a time._

_"Your hand grew back," she noted, and Rodolphus held up his left hand and flexed his fingers. He stared at the muddy brown river, glistening with sunlight and roiling slowly by, and he asked in a quiet voice,_

_"How's my Marya?"_

_"Getting big," Bellatrix said, pulling up a dandelion and staring at it for a moment. She tossed it into the river and said, "She's having a boy, the_   _Healer says. Marya means to call him Rodolphus."_

_He was silent for a very long moment then, and finally he muttered,_

_"It could never have ended any differently."_

_"No. Probably not." Bellatrix stared at her left forearm, at her dormant Dark Mark. She sniffed lightly and said, "I should probably go."_

_She rose from where she'd been sitting, brushing grass and leaves from her skirts as Rodolphus said up to her,_

_"You were never meant to be mine, and if you were going to be his, I was going to die. It could never have ended any differently."_

_Bellatrix nodded, shading her eyes as she stared across the brown water. "I have to get across the river so I can go back."_

_"Well," Rodolphus laughed, "You can fly, can't you?"_

_Bellatrix smiled. "As a matter of fact, I can."_

Bellatrix's eyes flew open, and before she could even turn to face Voldemort, he mumbled,

"Well. That was... interesting."

Bellatrix groaned and heaved herself out of the bed, realizing it was already past seven o'clock. She had to be at the Ministry very soon for her first day of teaching Cruciatus Curse lessons to Auror trainees.

"There'll only be four today," Voldemort reminded her, and Bellatrix gave him a sleepy nod as she ambled to the bathroom. She shut the door and relieved herself, then brushed her teeth and yanked her curls back into a single braid down her back. She walked back out to the wardrobe and started to dress, opting for battle attire. She pulled on thick, sturdy leggings and knee-high, flat-heeled boots. She slithered into a tight-fitting tunic and bound a wide leather belt around her narrow waist. She could feel Voldemort staring at her from the bed, and she finally smirked at him and demanded,

"What?"

He tipped his head and shrugged. "You look very pretty in an evening gown, but you're devastingly beautiful when you look like you're about to kill somebody.

Bellatrix laughed quietly and shook her head. "Did Malabit Rowle arrange for the prisoners?"

"Yes," he said. "Two Mudbloods from Azkaban. Can't remember their names."

"The names don't matter, My Lord," Bellatrix reminded him. "As long as they can take some Cruciatus work, then they'll serve their purpose."

Voldemort's eyes flashed then, and a peaceful smile came over his face as he informed her,

"You're magnificent. Did you know?"

Bellatrix turned her eyes away from him, feeling self-conscious under the weight of his praise. She scratched at her head and reassured him,

"It's only a morning session, so I'll be back in time for your meeting with Abraxas Malfoy, if you want me there."

"If you're tired afterward, you can rest," he said. "It's just a weekly check-in with Malfoy, and you've another workshop in a few days. I don't want you to... to..."

He trailed off, but she knew what he was worried about. That time a few years earlier when she'd wound up in a coma for nearly a month because her magic had been so badly depleted.

"I'll do a few quick demonstrations, My Lord, but I mean to make my pupils do nearly all the work," she said with a little wink. She walked over to his side of the bed and let him take her hand, kissing her knuckles as he instructed her,

"Make me proud, little thing."

"I promise to try," she replied. He squeezed her hand and let her go, and then Bellatrix Disapparated from where she stood. Thanks to her enchanted necklace, she reappeared right in the great atrium of the Ministry Headquarters in London. The instant she appeared, whispers and murmurs of disbelief broke out all around her. Everyone in the dark, towering atrium stopped what they were doing and dipped into deep bows and curtsies. Murmured platitudes buzzed all around her, and Bellatrix flashed a little smile to those she passed on her way to the bank of lifts.

She stepped into one lift and pushed the button that would take her to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Another witch came ambling into the lift before it closed, and she stared at the stack of parchments in her arms as she murmured,

"Would you mind hitting the button for level four, please?"

Bellatrix suppressed a little smile and reached forward to push the button. The other witch, a woman in her fifties or sixties with a stern-looking face, mumbled her thanks.

"Not a problem at all," Bellatrix said. The other witch recognised Bellatrix's voice, her eyes gaping wide and her mouth falling open as she stammered,

"M-my Lady! I'm sorry; I meant no -"

"As I said, it's no problem at all. Pleased to meet you, Madam..."

"Travers," the witch whispered. "M-my son is a..."

"Death Eater. Yes, of course. I know him well." Bellatrix widened her smile, but the witch still looked terrified. The grate slid open on the lift, and the overhead voice announced they'd reached level four. Madam Travers stumbled off the lift, looking awestruck and embarrassed as Bellatrix wished her a good day.

She couldn't help but laugh a little as the lift barreled onward toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When she stepped out of the lift, she marched straight to Malabit Rowle's office, expecting to knock on the door. But Rowle was already waiting, and she said primly,

"Good morning, My Lady. We're so very grateful for you agreeing to conduct this training. Our Auror trainees will, I think, take to the concept more effectively when it's being taught by you."

"Well, I think you're giving my educational skills a bit too much advance credit, Madam Rowle," Bellatrix said, "but I promise to do my best."

Malabit Rowle hesitated for a brief moment and said, "We were going to conduct the lesson in... in the cell at the end of the corridor, but I thought perhaps..."

"That will do perfectly well. Thank you." Bellatrix kept her face steely. That cell was where Voldemort had sliced Tarquin Avery apart from head to tow, where he'd burned him and let Bellatrix bleed his eyes out before the Dark Lord had strung Tarquin up from a Conjured noose. Bellatrix could still remember the sticky, metallic-smelling puddle of Avery's blood on the cell floor as he swung a bit overhead. To a person with more righteous scruples, perhaps, the memory would have been too much to bear. For Bellatrix, it just egged her mind on toward the task at hand.

"The trainees are gathered outside the cell, My Lady," Malabit Rowle confirmed. "The prisoners we've brought from Azkaban are bound up and silenced on the cell floor."

"Perfect. Thank you for preparing everything, Madam Rowle. Oh, and... it sounds as though things are moving along swiftly with the new plan at Hogwarts."

"Indeed, My Lady," Malabit Rowle smiled. "Thank you again for facilitating the new programme."

"I'll be eliminating the prisoners once we've finished with them," Bellatrix said in a clip. "I'll write to you with reports on how each trainee performed."

She made her way down the corridor, and as she approached the cell, the three wizards and one witch and the end bowed and curtsied. Bellatrix recognised each one of them; they were only a tiny bit younger than she herself was. Two she'd known well in Slytherin; the other two she knew by face and name only.

"Boris Rockaway. Ector Nott. Pangburn Mulciber. And Laoise Keough. Right. No need for formal introductions, then. How many of you have cast a Cruciatus Curse before?"

Laoise Keough, the Irish Ravenclaw who had been a friendly acquaintance of Narcissa's during school, raised her hand tentatively. When Bellatrix threw up an eyebrow, Laoise said carefully,

"During our seventh year, My Lady, we learnt about the Cruciatus in Dark Arts. I used it against a Muggle back home who saw me performing magic in the garden."

Bellatrix smiled a little. "I'm assuming you Obliviated him afterward."

"I sent for an Obliviator squad, My Lady... as per the law."

Bellatrix nodded. "Right. Well, as Miss Keough could tell you, the Cruciatus Curse is especially tiring to cast. Unlike a Killing Curse, it is instantaneous. Unlike the Imperius Curse, it is almost impossible to resist. Let's go inside and I'll show you, eh?"

They went into the cell, and Bellatrix circled slowly around the still, quiet prisoners who lay bound up with ropes on the ground. It was a middle-aged witch and a younger wizard, but Bellatrix didn't recognise them. It didn't matter who they were. She walked slowly and said to her pupils,

"A very powerful wizard trained me in casting the Cruciatus Curse. First, he told me, they scream for mercy. That's after just ten seconds or so. You'll begin to feel quite tired around thirty seconds, but you must push through. Each casting must last at least a full minute to do any useful damage. At that point, they'll start to cry out for their mothers. They'll tell you they have a family, that they just want to go home. Ignore them; they're being tortured for a reason."

Three of the four pupils looked intrigued, but Ector Nott looked a little nauseated. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows at him and asked lightly,

"Have you some sort of pity for condemned prisoners, Mr Nott?"

"Erm... No, My Lady," he insisted, but Bellatrix sighed and said,

"We shall see. Anyway. If you can push through - really push through your own tired mind and body - you'll hold the spell for around five or six solid minutes. They'll go silent then. Do it again for another five minutes, and you'll watch their hair go white. Their minds will fry up like bacon, and then they're damaged beyond repair. Obviously, if you're meaning to get information from them, you can't take it that far at first. You'll learn your own rhythm. You'll learn how long to hold the curse with your own power to achieve the goal you want."

The Auror trainees were silent, their wands in their hands as they stood looking anxious. Bellatrix aimed her wand at one of the prisoners and said tightly,

" _Emancipare. CRUCIO!_ "

The ropes binding the middle-aged witch Vanished, and then the angry red web of Bellatrix's powerful Cruciatus Curse rocketed toward her. It wrapped around her like a blanket, and the witch began to writhe and shriek. She clutched at her hair and screamed,

"No! Please! Noooooo! Stop it! Stop! Aaaaaagh! It hurts, it hurts, it's too much. I can't. Please, please, please!"

"First they cry out for mercy," Bellatrix said, flicking her eyes up to the shocked-looking Auror trainees. Bellatrix pushed through the fatigue in her veins, strengthening her spell as the seconds ticked by. The witch on the ground was on her stomach now, convulsing as though she were having a seizure.

"Please, I just want to go home to my parents, to my husband and child. Please! Please! Let me go home!"

"Then they cry out for their mothers," Bellatrix murmured. She held the spell, watching as Ector Nott's face went a very discouraging shade of white. Bellatrix released her spell and took a step back, barking, "Nott! Finish her off. Now."

Ector Nott raised his wand and nodded, clearing his throat as he said firmly, " _Crucio_."

A feeble little red light wormed its way from the tip of Nott's wand to the sobbing witch on the ground. It hit her like a little electric shock, and though she cried out in pain, it had no demonstrable effect.

"You have one more chance to prove to me that you possess the stomach for this, Mr Nott," Bellatrix snarled. "Again."

" _Crucio_!" Nott cried, and this time his spell was strong enough to send a single rope of red light winding around the witch's neck. She made a terrible choking sound and pounded the ground with her fists, but Nott couldn't hold the spell. The other two wizards glared at him disapprovingly, and Laoise Keough had her arms folded over her chest.

"Keough." Bellatrix gestured toward the witch, and Laoise Keough took a half step forward as she aimed her wand downward,

" _CRUCIO_!" The little witch's voice echoed off the walls, and her wand practically exploded with red light.

"Good. Hold it," Bellatrix instructed Keough. "Don't let up. Keep pushing through."

Laoise Keough looked worn out, sweating and panting desperately after a minute or two. But then the witch on the ground went still and silent, and Bellatrix smirked as she nodded and said,

"Then they cry for nothing at all. Good. Release it, Keough."

Once Laoise Keough let the spell go, Bellatrix aimed her wand at the prisoner and said nonchalantly, " _Avada Kedavra."_

The other two wizards, Rockaway and Mulciber, proved themselves capable of holding solid Cruciatus Curses on the male prisoner once they were given the chance. Bellatrix killed the destroyed wizard once they were through, and then she said primly,

"Keough, Mulciber, and Rockaway... you did very well. Mr Nott... you'll need to get your head in this game or get out of the game entirely. Understood?"

"Yes, My Lady." Nott lowered his head, looking humiliated. Bellatrix nodded and walked past the group as she said, "See you all next Tuesday, then."


	10. Chapter 10

_Ministry of Magic, London_

_26 March 1974_

"Again, Mulciber." Bellatrix paced back and forth in the cell, and Pangburn Mulciber's eyes went hard. He cleared his throat and aimed his wand at the elderly wizard that had been brought from Azkaban.

" _CRUCIO_!" Mulciber cried, and the spell burst violently forth from his wand. It was the strongest one yet from Mulciber, and Rockaway looked impressed as he watched his friend work. But Bellatrix was distracted by the way Laoise Keough had come walking over to her. The Irish witch kept her voice steady as she asked calmly,

"My Lady, may I speak with you privately in the corridor? Please?"

Bellatrix frowned at Keough, but the other witch's eyes were pleading. Bellatrix nodded and called over the prisoner's screaming,

"Keep holding it, Mulciber. Rockaway, finish him off. When I come back in here, I want him babbling and fried."

"Yes, My Lady!" Mulciber exclaimed, looking a little aroused by casting the Cruciatus. That was normal in the right people, Bellatrix knew, and she paid it no mind as she led Laoise Keough out into the corridor.

"What's the matter, Keough?" Bellatrix asked seriously, and Laoise Keough sighed, glancing back toward the cell.

"This morning, all four of us gathered for breakfast before coming over here," Keough said. "Nott admitted that he didn't think he had it in him to make a career of torturing people. He said that he'd dreamed of being an Auror ever since he was a little boy, but he hadn't thought it would involve destroying people's minds for fun."

"For fun," Bellatrix repeated. "That's what he said?"

"That's what he said, My Lady," Keough nodded. Bellatrix sniffed lightly and straightened her spine.

"Keough, your hard work and loyalty is appreciated. Madam Rowle will know what an asset you are to the Auror programme. Now, when we go back into that cell, I want you to execute the prisoner on the ground. Understood?"

Keough's light eyes went cold as ice, and she nodded. "Yes, My Lady."

Bellatrix led Keough back into the cell. The prisoner on the ground had gone quiet, and Rockaway stood with a Cruciatus Curse being held steady. Mulciber was wiping sweat from his forehead behind Rockaway, and Nott stood in the corner, looking disgusted.

"That will do, Rockaway," Bellatrix barked. Once Rockaway broke his spell, she nodded at the other witch in the room and said, "Go on, Keough."

Laoise Keough raised her wand and hesitated for a half second. That was natural. Keough seemed determined to do her job, but she wasn't a sadist. She steadied herself, rolling her shoulders and taking a shaking breath as she finally yelled,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The jade green light that Bellatrix had seen so many times shot straight from Keough's wand into the body of the prisoner on the ground. His life had obviously been snuffed out entirely, and Bellatrix quickly Vanished the body so that Keough wouldn't have to stare too long at her first kill. Mulciber and Rockaway seemed very impressed by what their colleague had done, but Nott had his lips pursed as though he were biting his tongue. Bellatrix considered her options. If she let the Dark Lord have his way, Nott would be executed, but that seemed unnecessary and unwise. His family was important. But they also had to tread carefully; a spurned or humiliated young wizard was liable to go rogue or to turn on the Dark Lord. In all probability, Nott simply didn't possess the potential for this work.

"Mr Nott. In the corridor, if you please." Bellatrix strode briskly from the cell, and Ector Nott followed her. He looked halfway between being repulsed and being humiliated. Bellatrix nodded once at him and said simply, "A career as an Auror - as it exists these days - is not the right path for you. I am going to recommend to Madam Rowle that you be placed at once in a highly-paid position with the Administrative Registration Department. I know you are a very intelligent wizard with good investigative skills; I'd like you to head up registration of marriages and births. How does sound to you?"

Ector Nott looked abruptly relieved, and he visibly gulped as he took a shaking breath. "Yes. That sounds very good. Thank you for your mercy, My Lady."

Bellatrix knew at once that she'd done the right thing, and she couldn't help but puff up at that. Soldier and diplomat, just like her lord liked her.

* * *

_Archer's Edge_

_26 March, 1974_

"I can't believe you've almost caught up to the present, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort scoffed quietly as he said,

"Six hours at a time over a few months will do the trick, apparently. And now you know nearly everything I've ever done. Mutilating that persistent whoremonger in Greece who wouldn't take no for an answer. Hepzebah Smith. Practising Necromancy in Romania. Those permanent locking hexes and the house fires in Lithuania."

It was true, he realised at once. With every passing month of his life, the things he'd done had become Darker and Darker... right up until Bellatrix had shown up in his life. Then the chaotic evil had been refined into something more focused. Still Dark, to be certain, but more efficient, more effective. More powerful, even. He sighed a little and said,

"The next bit is killing Dumbledore. You were there, must I relive the entire story for you?"

Bellatrix shook her head solemnly. "No, My Lord. I remember it like it was yesterday, My Lord."

Quite a lot seemed like a minute ago and a century ago all at once. The next day was their four year wedding anniversary, though Bellatrix looked even younger than the day he'd married her. In some ways, it felt like they were still newlyweds, still discovering one another and constantly falling in love. In other ways, he felt like he'd always had her, like his life before her had belonged to someone else.

Voldemort picked up his quill and joked, "I'm tempted not to make this entry. It's probably the least wicked thing I've ever done. The only one who suffered was Albus Dumbledore."

Bellatrix smirked but gave him a meaningful look, and Voldemort wrote into the book,

_Together with my wife, I plotted and carried out the assassination of Albus Dumbledore for the purposes of political gain. We honed our skills in augmentative magic, and we ambushed Dumbledore in Hogsmeade whilst disguised. We Imperiused him and took him into the forest, where I cast the Killing Curse upon him. With his death, the tide in my cementing power permanently shifted._

He set the quill down and smiled a little. "That felt good."

"Killing him or writing about it?" Bellatrix, and Voldemort gave her a smug look as he confirmed,

"Both."

"My Lord," Bellatrix said hesitantly, "Is it possible that the Elder Wand is real? The one from the story about the three brothers?"

Voldemort frowned. "What makes you ask that?"

Bellatrix rubbed at her bare arm, shivering a little as she admitted, "She said it almost in passing. The Croatian witch, Nadia. I ought to have brought it up as soon as I got home, but I was only thinking of the book, and then I forgot about it entirely. Until now."

"Wait. What are you talking about?" Voldemort shut the book and tucked it away in his desk drawer, folding his hands before him and scowling at Bellatrix. She swallowed hard and cracked her mind open to him. Suddenly he could see Bellatrix in Nadia's old monastery, and he could hear the witch asking her where Voldemort had gotten the Elder Wand. He could hear Bellatrix's disbelief, and Nadia's look of amusement as she said that Dumbledore had probably thought it was just a story, too. Voldemort wrenched himself from Bellatrix's mind and pulled his wand from his robes as he said sharply,

"You're right, Bella. You ought to have told me this at once. It's been months.  _Months_!"

"Years, really," Bellatrix noted, staring at the knobby, thin wand in Voldemort's hand. "You took that off Dumbledore. You said you wanted it as a trophy, but you started using it at once."

"Because it responds better to me than the wand I got as a boy," Voldemort said a bit self-consciously. His throat went dry then as he dragged his fingers over the spindly wand. He thought of the story, of the Elder Wand and the way it had been taken by force by each new owner. He shook his head and said to Bellatrix, "It's just a story. Like you said to Nadia."

She looked a little frightened then as she shrugged and said, "People thought for a very long time that the story about the Moreaus was just a fairy tale. But we're living that story, aren't we, My Lord? I'm so sorry I never brought it up. It seemed so ridiculous in the noise of everything else."

Voldemort couldn't focus on anger toward her just now. He knew full well she hadn't deliberately omitted information from him; he could feel the guilt and confusion from her mind. He caressed the wand again and said,

"Even if the story were true... even if this is the Elder Wand... it doesn't really mean anything without the Resurrection Stone or the Invisibility Cloak, and I haven't got those, have I? What good does one of Death's gifts do on its own?"

Bellatrix drummed her fingers on her arm, and he could tell what she was thinking. If the wand he'd taken from Dumbledore really was the Elder Wand, then the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak were real, too. Whether or not they still existed was a mystery. And if they did exist, their location was a mystery, too.

Voldemort liked to think himself immortal thanks to his Horcruxes. He liked to think Bellatrix immortal thanks to the bracelet that was hidden beneath Room Eight of the Doxy's Nest. But his recent physical degradation and the time she'd spent in a coma had made him question that immortality. He'd wondered more than once what would become of them if they were killed. Would they exist as disembodied spirits? Wasn't that, in its own way, worse than death? But the legend - and especially the rumours among the Darkest witches and wizards of Europe - was that the united Deathly Hallows would make the one who possessed them the true Master of Death.

"Do you want them?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort could not help but nod and whisper,

"Yes, I do."

Bellatrix sighed and said firmly, "Then we shall find them, My Lord. If there is the possibility of someone mastering death, it can only be Lord Voldemort. It could only ever be you. So we'll find them."

Voldemort felt a little dizzy, and he nodded as he said, "I do not mean to devote either of our lives to this. It will be one task among many. I will not lose sight of what I have in search of a hypothetical. I learnt that from you."

Bellatrix turned up half her mouth and said again, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I came back from Croatia."

"Your mind was focused elsewhere," Voldemort reassured her. His heart was racing, or maybe hers was, but anxiety flared up in their minds as the idea of the Deathly Hallows being real roiled back and forth between them. Voldemort picked up the wand he'd taken from Dumbledore and wondered where Dumbledore himself had gotten it. He frowned, wracking his brain as he thought back to his days at Hogwarts. Suddenly he could see Albus Dumbledore in Transfigurations lessons, holding up a wand that looked nothing like the knobby thing Voldemort now caressed. He blinked quickly, remembering what had transpired between Tom Riddle's school years and the assassination of Dumbledore.

"Grindelwald," he whispered, and when Bellatrix looked confused, Voldemort said, "He won it in his duel with Grindelwald."

Bellatrix's eyes went round as saucers as she realised the same thing Voldemort had. This wand had been transferred by defeating its previous owner. It was obviously more powerful than other wands.

This was the Elder Wand. The other Hallows must be real. They must be out there.

"We'll find them, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and when he met her eyes, they glistened with unshed tears. Voldemort let overwhelmed, all of a sudden, by the idea of truly mastering death once and for all. But he couldn't get ahead of himself. He'd learnt his lesson by making too many Horcruxes and suffering the consequences. They would need to tread carefully, slowly. Alone, he might not have the self-control for that. With his little thing, the idea of finding the three Deathly Hallows somehow seemed more realistic. He tucked his wand back into his robes and nodded once.

"Let's go have some dinner, eh?"

* * *

_Archer's Edge_

_27 March 1974_

_"Excuse me... sir?"_

_Lord Voldemort turned round to see a little girl with an almost impossibly wild mane of black curls come trotting up to him. She'd been silent but interested at the dinner party, only allowed to attend because she was the eldest of Cygnus Black III's daughters. Bellatrix, her name was. Voldemort paused his footsteps, standing near a window in the Rosier manse as the girl closed in on him. She opened her fist, revealing a rather sickly-looking insect, and she said breathlessly,_

_"I've got this beetle, and I was wondering if you'd use it to show me the Cruciatus Curse."_

_Voldemort felt his eyebrows fly up in surprise. He studied the little girl's face, from her defiant pout to her stony dark eyes, and he repeated, "The Cruciatus Curse. And what use would a little thing like you have for a spell like that?"_

_"I am made to understand, sir, that such a spell can be useful in many occasions." Little Bellatrix moved her hand to accommodate the way the beetle had scurried across her palm. Voldemort smirked. Most tiny witches would have been repulsed by an insect crawling on their hands; nearly all of them would have been horrified by the very notion of the Cruciatus Curse. This one, it seemed, was more than a little different._

_"My, my, Miss Bellatrix Black," Voldemort said quietly, "Aren't you properly vicious? I'm afraid I can't torture that beetle for you."_

_"Why not?" Bellatrix demanded, and Voldemort resisted the_   _urge to laugh. He shook his head and explained,_

_"I don't want the Ministry of Magic hunting me down over a beetle, first of all. Secondly, I should think your family would banish me entirely from future dinner parties for destroying the innocence of their precious little girl."_

_He said that last bit with a strong dose of sarcasm, for he could tell Bellatrix was astute enough to pick up on it. She tossed the beetle down onto the marble floor and said softly,_

_"At least Vanish it for me? Sir?"_

_He aimed his wand at the beetle and shook his head at her, throwing up one eyebrow. "You're rather terrifying for a child, you know? Insectum Evanesco."_

_Bellatrix's eyes glittered with delight as the beetle disappeared. It had been scurrying frantically down the corridor, and now it was gone. Voldemort noted the delight in her eyes, and as he tucked his wand away, he had a sudden, vivid mental image of her ten years in the future. She was down on one knee, swearing fealty to him in a dingy inn somewhere. He swallowed hard and decided he would go back to the room he was renting in Malfoy Manor._

_"Bellatrix!" The stern voice of Druella Black echoed through her family's house, and then she appeared around a corner. "There you are, Bellatrix; your sister needs a playmate out front. Go."_

_Bellatrix looked more than a little annoyed, but she sighed and mumbled, "Nice to meet you, Lord Voldemort."_

_"Very nice to meet you, Miss Black," Voldemort nodded. Once Bellatrix had dashed off, Voldemort flashed a little smiled to Druella Black and said sincerely, "Thank you again for the invitation, Madam Black. It was a pleasure to make the acquaintance of your entire family."_

_"The pleasure was all ours, I assure you," Druella smiled. She gestured down the corridor and said, "Come this way; I'll show you out."_

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open slowly and found that she was entirely entangled with her husband's body. Her left leg was strewn across his, and her head lay on his chest where he was propped against the pillows. His right arm held her close. They'd managed to kick the blankets down quite a bit, probably because of all the body heat. Bellatrix raised her eyes to Voldemort and could see at once that they'd shared the dream.

"You called me 'vicious,'" Bellatrix whispered. It was noteworthy because he often used the word to praise her. He tucked her curls behind her ear and noted,

"I'd never seen a child like that. Other than myself. You reminded me of myself, I think."

"You saw the day I took the Dark Mark," Bellatrix said, and when he nodded slowly, she asked, "Have you had many visions of the future?"

"I didn't know at the time that that vision would come to pass," Voldemort admitted, "but, no, I'm no Seer. As far as I know, that's the only real glimpse of the future I've ever experienced."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, ghosting her fingertips across his chest as she murmured, "Four years."

"Happy anniversary, little thing," he replied. Bellatrix felt a surge of affection for him then, and something more insistent started to flow through her veins. She slid to the side, pulling herself up to straddle his body. She hadn't worn knickers to bed, so when she ground herself against his pyjama trousers, his erection stimulated her directly. His hands settled on her waist, which was covered by the black silk of her short nightgown, and his mouth fell open a little.

"I was made just for you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and his throat bobbed as his eyelids fluttered a little. She could feel adoration coming from him in waves, and when she reached between them to pull his pyjamas down, she found that he was fully hard. She'd gone wet by now, so when Bellatrix sank down onto him, the motion was slick and easy.

She rocked on him, forward and back and up and down, slowly and steadily for what felt like an eternity. All the while, his eyes were locked onto hers. She could suddenly feel absolutely everything he was experiencing. She could feel the physical sensations of this from his perspective - the feeling of her tight around him, of her palms pressed to his chest. She could feel the way he thought her curls looked most magnificent when they were untamed and frizzy in the morning. She could tell that he liked the sight of her breasts, that he relished the way her knees cradled his hips.

"My Lord," Bellatrix choked out, feeling so overwhelmed that she couldn't breathe. His hands tightened on her waist, and she felt him thinking that he loved her, that if he died right this moment, he'd die happy.

"You'll never die," she whispered frantically, speeding up the movements of her hips, "because you have your Horcruxes, and you'll have the Hallows, and you'll have me. And so you will live and reign forever. Like a god."

He just nodded, and then his face contorted as the tightened pleasure inside him snapped. Bellatrix felt him twitch inside of her, and as he pumped his seed into her body, she was overcome. She bent over as her own body came with the force of a bomb, her voice muffled by the skin on his neck as she cried out desperately. She squeezed his shoulders and tried to find breath. It seemed to go on forever.

She lay there for so long that she very nearly fell back to sleep, but eventually she felt Voldemort's fingers trailing up her spine, and she couldn't help but giggle softly at the sensation. She pulled back from his neck to look at him, and he told her in a groggy voice,

"There's an anniversary gift for you in the drawer just there."

Bellatrix sat up a little, still straddling his bare hips, and she reached into the bedside table drawer. She pulled out the only object that seemed new and strange - a dark blue velvet box. She shut the drawer and opened the box, and her brows furrowed deeply when she saw what was inside. It was a brass pendant, circular and elaborately decorated, with a small hourglass in the centre.

"Is this... is this..." Bellatrix's throat went dry, and Voldemort nodded as he confirmed,

"It's a Time-Turner. You never know when it might come in handy, hmm? I know you'll be extraordinarily judicious with it. But I thought you ought to have it, especially if we mean to embark on a long-term search for the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak."

Bellatrix's eyes burned a little as she nodded and said sincerely, "Thank you, My Lord. Now I've got the necklace to help me Apparate anywhere, the ring to disguise me, and this. I can control my own space, time, and self, it would seem. Hallows in their own right."

Voldemort smirked and shrugged. "I like you armed and dangerous."

Bellatrix shut the velvet box and promised, "I'll be more careful than I can say, My Lord. Now... your anniversary gift is breakfast, which I admittedly have not yet cooked. Shall I go do that now?"

"Mmmm... yes. That sounds perfect," Voldemort said.

* * *

He could smell the back bacon and the eggs and the toast all the way from his office, and his stomach roiled with hunger as he pulled his confessional book out from its drawer. He opened it on his desk and felt Bellatrix's insistence in his mind. Breakfast was ready, she was informing him, though he needed no clear words to receive the message. He told her, in a way so indirect that he never would have previously thought she'd understand it, that he'd be there in a moment. He peeled open the book to a blank page and picked up his quill, dipping it carefully in ink.

He stared at the page for a long moment. He was stronger now, stronger than ever before. Even if his eyesight was still lousy, it was of little consequence. After all, they'd tried telling him at Hogwarts that he needed spectacles. And if his hairline had receded, if his hair had gone grey, what of it? He was forty-seven years of age. But he was strong; he could fly again and could dash up a staircase without the slightest sensation of breathlessness. All that was thanks to this book and, more significantly, thanks to Bellatrix fetching it for him. Now they had a new journey on which to embark. They had new relics of immortality to track down. After all, if the past few years had taught Voldemort anything, it was that legends and fairy tales were very frequently rooted in the truth. He brought his quill to the paper and wrote,

_I fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Bellatrix Black. It is, without a doubt, the most wicked thing I've ever done, for without her, I would not be standing here today reigning unquestioned over wizarding Britain. All the evil that comes next, which I shall record carefully upon these pages, is the direct result of my infatuation with and ensuing marriage to Bellatrix Black. And so I confess here that wickedness - the wickedness that she is and always has been and always will be._

He watched as the ink seeped into the page, and he felt a sudden rush of power go through his veins like a drug. He shut the book, tucked it carefully into its drawer, and walked toward the smell of breakfast.

THE END


End file.
